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LYRICS  AND  SKETCHES. 


BY 


WILLIAM    M.   MARTIN 


PRINTED  AT  THE 

SOUTHERN   METHODIST   PUBLISHING    HOUSE. 
1861. 


Xa/^C  ON  TENTS. 

PAGE 

Memoir  Notes 9 


fpit^* 


^ 


The  Sunset  Prayer 37 

Flowers 38 

Little  Mae 39 

What  is  Woman  ? 41 

The  Colonel 42 

Not  worthy  of  Her 44 

To  Miss  Brenan 45 

Home , 46 

As  a  Good  Man  dies 47 

Legend  of  L'Espiritu  Santo 49 

A  Man  dies  not  till  his  Work  is  done 49 

My  Cross , 61 

The  Cross 56 

When  the  Shades  of  Eve  are  falling 56 

Is  there  a  Wave? 67 

Little  Lou 68 


215131 


IV  CONTENTS. 

Katie  Blair 69 

Mary 61 

Carpe  Diem 62 

Ye  Ballade  of  Marie 63 

Upper  Dog  in  the  Fight 64 

Eosa  hiding. 66 

Madeline 68 

I  know  an  Oak  Tree 70 

To  Lenore 70 

Black  and  Blue  Eyes 71 

A  Picture 72 

The  Beautiful  never  can  die 74 

The  Poet  and  the  Critic 76 

Katie  and  1 77 

Dum  Vivimus  Vivamus 78 

A  Prayer 80 

What  shows  us  God? 81 

What  is  Life? 82 

Life  is  a  River 84 

The  Night  when  first  we  met 85 

Anabelle,  my  Golden  Bell 86 

The  College  Bell 87 

Elegy  on  my  Cat 88 

The  Little  Girl  in  Black 89 

Evangeline 91 

Beautiful  SaUie 92 


CONTENTS.  V 

In  Bowers  Green 94 

Suannanoa  River 95 

King's  Mountain 96 

Last  of  the  Abencerrages 98 

A  Curse  and  a  Blessing 102 

Musings 104 

Visions 105 

Three  Sights  of  Mary 108 

The  Lonely  Grave 109 

To  Lily  110 

Eosa Ill 

Perfumes,  Birds,  and  Flowers 113 

That  One 114 

My  Love 115 

'Tis  then  I  think  of  thee 116 

The  Circassian 118 

What  Bessy  has 119 

The  Lucky  Escape 120 

A  Ballad  of  ye  Valliante  Knighte  and  ye  Ladye 

Faire 121 

Teaching  the  Young  Idea 123 

Lines  for  Miss  B 's  Album 123 

Affection's  Flowers 124 

Were  I  aBird 126 

On  the  Island 129 

How  Beauteous  is  Moonlight ,....%, 130 


2  i  B 1  S 1 


2' 


1 
yi  CONTENTS. 

MaCanne:  from  Beranger , 132 

Go  for  the  Right,  -whatever  betide 135 

Baby  is  at  Rest 136 

The  Baby  sleeps 137 

Requiem 139 

Death  the  Foe,  and  Death  the  Friend 140 

'Twas  at  the  Eventide 141 

The  Early  Dead 142 

Mother  and  Child 143 

Dead  of  the  Central  America 144 

Death  the  King 146 

La  Belle  Creole 148 

To  Miss  Mary  S ,  of  Georgia 149 

Like  a  Sunbeam 150 

A  Wail  for  the  Gifted 152 

Battle  Song 153 

Christmas  Carol 154 


lutt^^s. 


Indians 156 

Raleighism 160 

Women's  Eyes 163 

Little  Girls 167 

The  Acme  of  Beauty 172 

Crooked  Sticks,  etc * 176 


} 
CONTENTS.  Vii 

Other  Days 177 

The  Expected  Comet 182 

Rainbows 184 

Gloves 189 

Ruby  at  School 197 

Sight-Seeing 201 

How  Ruby  caught  Her 205 

Recorder,  Reminiscor,  et  Obliviscor 210 

The  Destiny  of  the  Nation :  Extract  from  an  Ora- 
tion   216 

Patriotism:  Extract  from  an  Oration 223 

Extracts  from  Letters , 233 


o 


BY  A    FRIEND. 


riiiLOSoniY  -will  perhaps  never  be  able,  within  the 
limits  of  human  life,  to  explain  the  moral  anomaly  of 
early  death. 

It  is  a  phenomenon  unclassified ;  a  fact  that  human 
speculation  hands  up  to  a  higher  tribunal. 

That  there  is  a  legitimate  moral  end  subserved — a 
good  and  great  purpose  consummated — wc  feel  that  it 
were  atheism  to  deny. 

f  It  is  the  part  of  the  human  to  cry  out  against  it. 
It  is  the  part  of  the  Divine  to  say :  Thy  will  be 
done. 

Let  the  Divine  silence  the  human  cry,  and  let  Faith 
say  :  It  is  well. 

Wc  may  not  understand  ;  yet  we  may  trust. 

Few  of  the  wise  sayings  are  so  utterly  void  of  mean- 
ing as  that  of  Menander : 

*0;/  oi  6eol  (})i\ovai.v  aTro9n]<rKet,  vdo<;. 


10  MEMOIR    NOTES. 

Plautus  put  no  life  into  the  dead  thought  when  he 
uttered  it  in  the  since-dead  Roman  tongue: 

Qucm  dii  diliguni  adolescens  moritur. 

Nay,  nay  ;  at  last, 

"All  philosophy,  all  ftiith, 

All  earthl}',  all  celestial  lore, 
Have  but  one  voice,  which  only  saith. 
Endure— adore !" 

IT. 

lie  of  whom  we  are  to  speak,  died  early — a  little 
past  twenty-three  ;  just  a  third  of  three-score  years 
and  ten. 

William  Maxwell  Martin  was  born  in  Columbia, 
South  Carolina,  on  Sunday,  June  4,  1837. 

Previous  to  his  fiftecntli  year  he  had,  in  addition  to 
a  careful  course  of  English  studies,  acquired  a  good 
knowledge  of  French,  and  had  pursued  with  some  suc- 
cess the  Hebrew  language  and  Drawing.  He  then 
added  the  classics,  in  which  his  progress  was  rapid 
and  his  attainments  accurate  ;  and  in  1852  he  entered 
the  Freshman  class  of  the  South  Carolina  College. 
Two  years  later  he  was  removed  to  Wofford  College, 
where  he  graduated  in  1857,  aged  just  twenty  years. 
His  Commencement  speech,  "The  Calico  Flag,"  pro- 
duced a  sensation  in  its  way  beyond  any  thing  in  the 
annals  of  the  college.  In  1858  he  was  elected  princi- 
pal of  the  Palmetto  School  in  Columbia,  which  position 
he  resigned  at  the  end  of  that  year.  The  next  year 
he  taught  as  private  tutor.     In  1860  he  taught  a  school 


MEMOIR    NOTES.  11 

at  St.  George's,  in  the  lower  section  of  his  native  State. 
This  school,  a  large  one,  and  successfully  conducted, 
he  resigned  at  the  end  of  one  year,  for  the  purpose  of. 
devoting  himself  directly  to  his  law  studies ;  resigned 
cheerfully,  for  teaching  had  never  been  to  him  a  con- 
genial pursuit.  From  his  purpose  of  professional  study 
he  was  diverted  by  circumstances  arising  at  this  pe- 
riod—  circumstances  that  lie  in  store  for  the  pen  of  the 
future  historian  of  our  country.  Immediately  after 
the  secession  of  South  Carolina,  the  threatening  aspect 
of  affairs  in  Charleston  harbor  required  the  presence  of 
additional  military  forces.  A  call  was  made  for  volun- 
teers immediately  available.  Our  poet  friend  attached 
himself  to  the  Columbia  Artillery,  the  first  company 
called  into  actual  service  from  that  city,  and  left  with  it 
for  Charleston,  on  the  2d  of  January,  1861.  They  were 
at  once  stationed  in  Fort  Moultrie,  near  the  site  of  the 
Fort  ISIoultrie  of  Revolutionary  fame.  He  had  part  in 
the  firing  upon  the  Star  of  the  West,  on  the  9th  of 
January — as  daring  and  gallant  an  act  as  any  in  the 
history  of  our  country.  He  was  promoted  during  his 
brief  service,  for  soldiei^ly  conduct.  On  the  night  of 
Thursday,  January  31,  an  alarm  called  the  command 
to  arms ;  and  they  stood  to  their  guns  during  the  whole 
of  a  damp  and  disagreeable  night.  This  exposure  pro- 
duced on  our  young  friend  a  slight  chill,  attended  with 
fever.  For  a  fortnight  he  continued  indisposed,  with- 
out any  very  alarming  S3'mptoms,  partly  in  the  hospital 
and  partly  in  Charleston.  On  the  16th  he  sought  his 
home  in  Columbia,  and  there  the  fever  assumed  a  ty- 
phoid character,  and  terminated  his  life  on  the  morn- 


12  II  E  M  U  I II     N  0  T  E  S  . 

ing  of  Thursday,  February  21 — one  of  the  first  victims 
laid  upou  the  altar  of  our  country  in  this  recent  strug- 
gle for  liberty. 

His  tlie  privilege  to  give  his  life  to  liis  country.  It 
was  one  of  liis  own  patriot  dreams.     His  tlic  lot 

"In  golden  poet  dreams  to  lire, 
And,  ere  they  fade,  to  fall." 

III. 

As  a  poet,  he  stood  very  near  to  Nature,  and  was 
wont  to  listen  attentively  and  sincerely  for  her  voice 
to  set  his  OAvn  to  music ;  nor  listened  in  vain. 

He  loved,  beyond  all  (hings  of  so-called  inanimate 
nature,  the  magnificence  of  the  ocean.  There  was  a 
fa.scination  in  its  wondrous  beauty  ;  a  prophecy  to  his 
soul  in  its  wondrous  utterances.  There  was  a  signifi- 
cance and  a  life  to  him  in  the  sweep  of  distance,  the 
action  and  energy,  the  power  and  solemn  loneliness, 
the  great  purpose  that  beamed  and  throbbed  in  its 
mighty  wave-pulses.  Tlie  awe  of  its  great  presence 
sat  upon  his  soul  with  an  autocracy  that  left  no  power 
to  rebel. 

Next  to  the  ocean,  his  passion  was  the  proud  moun- 
tain; Here  his  emotion  was  more  varied.  The  haughty 
brow,  the  peaceful  and  distant  vale,  the  wild  gorge,  the 
slumbering  cove,  the  dark  and  silent  glen,  the  hushed 
recess,  the  swell  and  succession  of  neighboring  emi- 
nences, all  bore  to  his  attentive  soiil  their  own  peculiar 
utterances  ;  all  filled,  warmed,  and  elevated  his  spirit. 
His  varied  tourings  through   our  sunny  land  attached 


MEMOIR     NOTES.  13 

him  to  many  spots  ;  spots  hallowed  to  his  soul  by 
beauty  alone,  beyond  the  home-spots  his  heart  clung 
to ;  but  of  all  these  shrines  of  beauty,  he  clung  with 
most  devotion  to  Coesar's  Head.  They  who  have  caught 
the  spell  of  its  great  presence  by  seeing  its  living  gran- 
deur, will  understand  this  loyalty  to  a  scenic  throne 
of  beauty.  His  attachment  to  this  locality  was  pecu- 
liar; like  a  fascination,  so  beautiful,  too,  in  its  pure 
devotion. 

His  soul  felt  a  vitality  in  all  beauty.  Freedom,  then, 
was  a  native  characteristic  of  his  intellect  also.  The 
flower  embodied  a  thought  or  a  feeling: 

"  Lovely  are  the  flowers, 

Seeming  almost  humanly; 
Tender,  fair,  and  fragile, 
Clinging  as  if  womanly." 

He  looked  with  a  cold  eye  upon  nothing  in  nature — 
nothing  that  God  has  made  and  filled  with  life;  and 
God  is  in  every  thing,  from  the  univercelcstial  gran- 
deurs of  astronomy,  down  to  the  shapeless  pebble  that 
helps  receive  the  rising  tide.  For  him  "  the  smiling 
buds  of  spring"  "laughed  in  flowers."  The  humble 
flower  was  dear  to  him ;  for  it  bore  his  spirit  messages 
from  the  great  Genius  of  Beauty.  The  proud  mountain 
was  his  favorite  haunt ;  for  its  grandeur  thundered 
into  his  soul's  ear  great  truths  of  the  Eternal  in  Power. 
The  outer  world,  in  brook,  breeze,  and  moving  power 
everywhere,  spoke  to  his  sensitive  soul  llioir  several 
whisperings  of  Eternal  Love. 

This  nearness  to  nature,  and  this  recognition  of  her 


14  M  E  M  0  I R     N  0  T  E  S  . 

vital  nearness  to  man  and  to  God,  gave  his  soul  a  tone 
eminently  religious;  and  this  spirit  pervades  and  im- 
parts its  bright  spell  to  much  that  he  has  written.  It 
is  above  and  independent  of  mere  form,  and,  like  the 
vital  breath,  is  the  soul's  atmosphere,  rather  than  its 
form  of  faith. 

IV. 

As  a  humorist,  his  vein  was  incessant.  His  presence 
■was  a  light  wherever  it  came.  Like  the  gushing  char- 
ity of  his  heart,  it  was  inexhaustible  and  constant. 
Its  range,  under  guide  of  the  most  rigid  taste,  extended 
from  the  reckless  banter  of  the  wayside — the  pun,  the 
quirk,  the  brilliant  repartee — to  the  polished  jewel  of 
wit  that  would  adorn  the  coronal  of  a  queen  of  society. 

The  Hon.  William  C.  Preston  said  of  him,  while  yet 
a  boy,  "He  will  be  the  Rabelais  of  America." 

The  occasional  Humor  Sketches  that  he  contributed 
to  the  periodicals  of  the  day,  of  which  specimens  are 
given  in  (he  present  volume,  are  far  from  being  sam- 
ples of  his  living  humor.  iNIost  of  these  bear  marks  of 
haste,  adaptation  to  special  occasions  and  to  broader 
tastes,  and  for  immediate  effect,  rather  than  give  a  fair 
reflex  of  the  humorous  character  of  the  author.  The 
freshness,  however,  of  every  thing  he  wrote,  tlie  joyous 
conviviality  of  tone,  the  unstudied  mirthfulness,  the 
informality,  the  carelessness,  the  complete  abandon — 
these  tilings  tend  to  disarm  literary  criticism.  "While 
we  must  put  some  literary  estimate  upon  them,  we 
must  do  so  remembering  the  author's  youthfulness,  the 
almost  private  nature  of  such  productions,  and  the  still 


MEMOIR     NOTES.  15 

raore  significant  fact  that  he  wrote  these  things  rather 
to  fill  a  column  of  broad  humor  than  to  meet  his  OAva 
ideal  of  composition. 

V. 

In  all  his  writings — poetical,  humorous,  political, 
epistolary,  didactic — there  is  no  bitterness.  There 
was  no  malice  in  his  heart.  In  his  broadest  dash  of 
humor  there  is  no  gibe  to  rankle  in  any  human  bosom. 

VI. 

From  that  extreme  of  unquestioning  gladness  of  style 
in  many  of  the  prose  extracts,  and  in  some  of  the 
poems,  the  distance  would  seem  almost  infinite  to  the 
other  extreme  of  moral  sadness.  Our  friend's  finest 
eflforts  lie  near  the  poles  of  this  intervening  sphere. 
This  contrast  is  found  nowhere  else,  we  believe,  so 
striking,  except,  perhaps,  in  Burns.  Our  poet,  how- 
ever, did  at  his  immature  age  more  and  finer  things 
than  Burns  had  done  when  several  years  older ;  and 
Burns  lived  and  wrote  fifteen  years  longer  than  he. 
In  other  things  these  two  were  alike — in  love  of  nature, 
in  simplicity  and  earnestness,  in  generous  trust  of 
friends,  in  whole-souled  cordiality,  the  passion  of  pa- 
triotism, manliness,  frankness; 

"A  love  of  right,  a  scorn  of  wrong, 
Of  coward  and  of  slave ;" 

in  militai'y  tastes,  and  in  nationality. 

But  we  take  no  pleasure  in  urging  such  a  compari- 
son.    We  would  not  consent  to  call  our  friend  the 


16  IM  E  M  0  I  R     N  0  T  E  S  . 

Burns  of  America;  because  it  would  be  an  injustice  to 
the  cuUui'e,  the  purit}',  and  the  promise  of  our  frieuJ. 
Burns  at  the  age  of  twenty-three  had  written  three 
pieces  that  have  survived  to  us ;  the  other  had  written 
all  Ihat  he  was  permitted  in  life  to  write. 

VII. 

In  estimating  all  that  lie  has  written,  his  age  should 
be  remembered.  His  career  had  only  liegun.  His 
idea  of  the  poet's  mission  liad  only  assumed  a  definite 
form  when  his  hand  was  stilled.  The  son  of  a  poetess, 
ho  wore  the  bard-robe  a  brief  term,  and  laid  it  aside. 
His  first  verses,  included  in  the  present  volume,  were 
written  at  the  age  of  sixteen.  They  were  addressed 
to  Miss  B,,  a  Carolina  cantah-icc,  just  then  rising  into 
favor  and  distinction.  Virgiu  verses,  inspired  by 
beauty  and  music — how  appropriate  the  offering  ! 

VIII. 

Oratory  was  one  of  his  special  gifts.  In  this  he 
early  sat  at  the  feet  of  "the  old  man  eloquent,"  the 
Hon.  William  C.  Preston.  He  was  quite  as  much  an 
orator  born  as  he  was  a  poet.  Culture  developed  both. 
AVithout  culture,  both  must  have  been  comparatively 
jniworlcss.  This  cxamivlo  illustrates  what  I  lie  whole 
liistory  of  mind  proves,  namely,  the  nonsense  of 
Cicero's  idea,  Nascimnr  poclir,  Jimu.'i  orn/nre.s.  With 
equal  force,  too,  would  appear  the  absurdity  of  the 
French  proverb,  Bon  po'ete,  mauvais  Iiommc. 


MEMOIR     NOTES.  17 


IX. 


Whoever  will  read  with  us  a  few  pieces  in  this  vol- 
ume, we  deem  will  agree  with  us  in  our  estimate  of  tlie 
poet's  genius. 

If  any  one  fail  to  feci  what  malies  the  "Sunset 
Prayer"  a  true  poem,  no  comment  by  us  can  ever  reach 
him.  In  earnest  manliness  and  in  vigorous  truth,  "A 
IMan  dies  not  till  his  Work  is  done,"  stands  among  the 
best  poems  in  our  Southern  literature.  Tliese  also  arc 
true  poems :  "  Madeline,"  "A  Wail  for  the  Gifted,"  and 
"  My  Cross."  There  is  a  native  tenderness  touchingly 
poetic  in  "Baby  is  at  llest."  In  playful  fancy  we 
know  of  few  things  that  surpass  "  To  Lily  and  Flowers," 
and  in  sentiment,  "How  Beauteous  is  Moonlight,"  and 
"Mary." 

Has  any  other  poet  in  our  language,  before  the  ago 
of  twenty-three,  produced  poems  of  this  range,  excel- 
lence, and  finish  ? 

X. 

That  which  is  of  the  earth,  earth}',  rests  in  his  native 
city.  President  Longstreet,  in  the  funeral  discourse, 
beautifully  evolved  the  faith-triumph  in  this  brilliant 
and  brief  life.  And  those  who  have  known  him  inti- 
mately these  later  days;  who  have  read  his  letters  to 
his  family  and  friends  ;  who  have  learned  the  conver- 
sations during  his  last  illness  ;  who  have  felt  and  seen 
the  chastened  spirit  of  the  once  wayward  being;  Avho, 
at  last,  have  looked  upon  the  beautiful  peace  of  hjg 


18  MEMOIR    NOTES. 

death-presence  ;  those,  we  deem,  must  feel  and  believe, 
with  that  aged  divine,  that  in  his  deatli  a  trusting  and 
accepted  soul  had  been  wafted  in  peace  to  its  God. 

He  lias  passed  back  from  the  severe  probation  of 
earth, 

"The  chastened  spirit  to  its  God, 
The  humble  dust  to  dust." 

lie  was  buried  \Yith  military  honors,  in  the  burying- 
ground  of  the  Washington  Street  Church.  A  fluted 
broken  column  of  white  marble  marks  the  spot. 
Around  the  column  above,  the  sculptor's  hand  has 
hung  a  wreath  of  flowers,  and  upon  the  pedestal  lies  a 
single  bloom.  Beneath  this,  upon  the  western  side  of 
the  quadrangular  die,  are  these  words  : 

"William  Maxwell  Martin.  Born  4th  June, 
1837.  Died  21st  Feb.,  18G1.  'The  first  Martyr  to 
Southern  Independence.'  Ilis  death  caused  by  expo- 
sure in  defence  of  his  native  State,  at  Fort  Moultrie." 

On  the  southern  side,  beneath  a  banner  in  basso  re- 
lievo, are  these  lines : 

"  Furl  o'er  the  Poet's  grave 
The  banner  that  he  sang." 

On  the  eastern,  is  a  couplet  from  his  own  verses, 
Avith  his  initials  attached: 

"Severed  hearts  shall  be  united 

In  that  blessed  home-land— heaven.— W.  M.  M." 

On  the  north,  beneath  a  sculptured  lyre,  we  read : 

"And  lay  upon  his  narrow  cell 
The  tuneful  Lyre  he  loved  so  well." 


MEMOIR     NOTES.  19 

The  die  rests  upon  a  base  of  dark  bro-^vn  sandstone. 

Around  it  are  the  solemn,  silent  dead. 

Past  it,  moves  the  tide  of  noisy,  struggling  life. 

Anear  and  above  it  floats  the  atmosphere  of  a 
memory  hallowed  by  earth's  purest  affection.  Foot- 
steps, led  and  lighted  by  love,  visit  it  often  ;  but  oftcncr 
still  do  cherishing  hearts  pilgrim  thither. 

J.  W.  D. 

Columbia,  S.  C. 


IJO  ME  MO  III     NOTES. 


OBITUARY  NOTICE. 

DT   A.  B.  LOXOSTRKET,  D.D.,  Lt.D.,  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  SOUTtt 
CAROUNA  COLLEGE. 

AViLMAM  Maxwkll  Mautin,  son  of  ^Villiam  and 
M.argnrct  Martin,  hcarls  of  the  Columbia  Female 
College,  (lied  on  the  21  st  February  last,  in  the  city  of 
Columbia,  S.  C,  in  the  24th  year  of  his  age. 

lie  was  a  young  man  of  rare  endowments.  His 
immediate  ancestry  in  the  paternal  line  were  from 
Mecklenburg  county,  Nortli  Carolina;  his  great-grand- 
father, besides  other  revolulionary  services,  com- 
manded a  company  at  "King's  Mountain;"  in  the 
iiititcrual  line,  they  were  from  Dumfriesshire,  Scotland. 
The  bard  who  lias  iininortalizcd  the  shire  was  not  hia 
superior  as  a  poet  at  his  age.  In  some  respects  they 
were  alike;  in  others,  (hey  differed  wiiUly.  They 
were  both  tender  in  sentiment,  sparkling  in  wit,  and 
glowing  in  fancy  ;  both  appreciative  of  nature  in  all 
her  aspects  ;  buth  sportive  and  grave  by  turns. 

During  the  funeral  obsequies  of  the  deceased,  his 
remains  reposed  on  the  spot  where  ho  received  the 
ordinance  of  baptism  in  his  infancy,  and  gave  his 
hand  to  the  Church  in  his  early  boyhood.  Ilis  last 
public  address  was  on  "  Patriotism, "  and  the  last 
scene  of  his  life  was  a  beautiful  illustration  of  it.  lie 
was  among  the  fir'^l  to  volunteer  in  the  service  of  his 
State  after  her  second  Declaration  of  Independence. 


MEMOIR    NOTES.  21 

He  was  assigned  to  the  defence  of  Fort  Moultrie. 
Here  he  renewed  his  covenant  with  liis  Maker;  and 
now,  uniting  in  himself  the  Christian,  the  scholar,  and 
the  soldier,  he  discharged  his  duties  to  the  admiration 
of  every  one.  Called  suddenly  from  his  bed  to  his 
gun,  upon  a  raw  and  chilly  niglit,  he  neglected  the 
proper  precaution  for  shielding  his  person  from  the 
severities  of  the  season.  Exposed  to  them  through 
many  hours,  he  contracted  the  disease  which  termi- 
nated his  existence.  lie  lived  to  reach  tlie  paternal 
roof,  leave  to  his  parents  the  best  consolation  in  their 
bereavement,  and  died — the  first  martyr  to  Southern 
Independence. 


EXTRACT  OF  A  LETTER 

FROM    THE    REV.  VM.    M.    'WIGnTMAN,    D.D.,    LL.D,    PRESIDENT    OP    THE 
SOUTHERN  UNIVERSITY,  FORMERLY  PRESIDENT  OF  M'OFFOKD  COLLEGE. 

I  coxsiDEEED  "William  one  of  the  most  interesting 
of  all  the  young  men  I  have  known.  His  intellect 
was  of  the  first  order ;  his  imagination  had  the  true 
poetic  fire ;  his  power  of  application,  when  he  chose 
to  put  it  fortli,  would  have  placed  him  in  the  front 
rank  of  the  combatants  for  worldly  influence  and 
fame.  He  could  easily  have  taken  the  first  honor  at 
college  had  ho  striven  for  it,  but,  like  most  men  of 
genius,  he  disdained  the  patient  toil,  the  painstaking, 
plodding  industry  which  so  often  wins  the  prize  when 
wrctling  against  more  genius.  1  considered  liis  min- 
nieucenicnt  speech  one  of  the  best  I  have  ever  known 


22  M  E  M  0  I  R    N  O  T  E  S  . 

produced   by  a    graduating   class Purified 

from  the  frailties  of  earth,  liis  exalted  powers  shall 
find  in  eternity  a  fitting  development — a  boon  denied 
on  earth. 


EDITORIAL  OBITUARY  NOTICE, 

rr.OM    THE  TORKVILLE  (8.  C.)   ENQL'IREK,   TO   WHICU    UE   WAS   COX- 
TRinUTlNO  EDITOR. 

W  1  L  L  I  A  M     M  .     >I  A  11  T  1  N  . 

Our  Columbia  friend,  'Slv.  Jas.  "Wood  Davidson, 
sends  us  a  touching  and  wortliy  tribute  to  the  memory 
of  this  sunny-hearted  child  of  song,  genial  and  kindly 
luimorist,  and  youthful  patriot  soldier,  who  died  in 
Columbia  on  Wednesday  night  of  last  "week,  from  the 
effects  of  exposure  while  at  tlie  post  of  duty  and 
danger  at  Charleston.  It  is  needless  for  us  to  add  a 
word  to  this  full  and  impartial,  yet  warmly  sympa- 
thetic and  appreciative  tribute  to  one  whom  we  had 
learned  to  love  as  a  man  and  adjnire  as  a  genius.  But 
we  cannot  tear  the  cherished  name  from  its  place 
above,  without  striving  to  give  utterance  to  the  sorrow 
that  rolls  its  heavy  tide  back  upon  us  at  every  effort 
to  throw  it  off. 

Our  memory  forces  us  to  recall  the  Chattertons,  the 
Keats,  tlio  Shelleys,  the  Drakes,  and  the  Toes  of 
litcratnro,  who, 

"  liikc  the  r.ainbow's  lovely  form, 
Evanishiu*;  amid  the  storm," 


MEMOIRNOTES.  23 

gave  us  a  few  glimpses  into  the  universe  of  unrevcaled 
beauty,  and  then  exhaled  in  a  fragrant  cloud  of  song 
to  heaven.  Alas !  is  genius  indeed  a  disease  preying 
upon  its  possessor,  like  a  worm  at  the  ruddiest  flower's 
heart?  Certain  it  is,  the  gem  is  often  set  in  a  delicate 
casket.  But  we  had  looked  forward  for  our  gifted 
young  friend  and  literary  brother,  with  undoubting 
hope,  to  a  long  life  of  continually  increasing  lustre. 
The  symmetry  of  his  form,  the  rosy  hue  of  his  cheek, 
and  the  healthful  sparkle  of  his  eye,  promised  as 
much.  Now,  however,  the  daisies,  the  violets,  and 
the  roses  of  this  spring  will  bloom  above  his  youthful 
grave.  If  South  Carolina  loses  nothing  more,  she  has 
paid  of  her  richest  treasure  for  the  priceless  boon  of 
liberty. 

The  Carolinian,  commenting  on  his  death,  remarks : 
"He  is  well  known  as  a  writer  of  infinite  humor. 
Some  of  his  contributions,  both  poetry  and  prose, 
evince  decided  genius.  He  was  a  regular  contributor 
to  the  Yorkville  Enquirer,  and  his  death  by  the  readers 
of  that  paper  will  be  particulai'ly  lamented.  He  died 
in  the  service  of  the  State,  and,  as  a  tribute  to  his 
memory,  his  remains  will  be  escorted  to  their  last 
resting-place  this  morning  with  military  respect — a 
detachment  of  the  Artillery  Company,  honorary  mem- 
bers of  the  Richland  Volunteer  Rifle  Company,  and 
the  Governor's  Guards  having  tendered  themselves  as 
an  escort." 

The  readers  of  the  Enquirer  will,  we  arc  sure,  feci 
every  word  of  this  that  relates  to  them.  His  nume- 
rous  prose   contributions,    chiefly   over    the   familiar 


24  MEMOIR    NOTES. 

signature  of  "Ruby,"  carried  with  them  an  irresistible 
charm  of  wholesoiuc  humor  and  bewitching  gayety. 
And  the  sweetest  singing-bird  of  the  grove  might 
borrow  new  and  sweeter  notes  from  the  honeyed 
music  of  his  poetry.  We  rejoice  to  learn  that  these 
fugitive  emanations — the  liistory  of  a  i-adiant,  fasci- 
nating, early-expiring  genius — are  to  be  collected  and 
preserved  as  the  embalmment  of  tlie  de^jarted  poet's 
name. 

We  had  the  pleasure  of  only  a  short  personal 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Martin.  We  met  him  for  the 
first  time — and  never  afterwards  in  conversation — in 
the  Convention  Ilall  at  Columbia,  on  the  day  when 
South  Carolina  resolved  upon  the  action,  in  the  viinli- 
cation  of  which  he  has  given  his  life.  Surrounded  as 
we  were  by  many  of  the  noblest  spirits  of  the  State, 
engaged  too  in  a  work  of  intensest  interest  to  us,  we 
were  nevertheless  irresistibly  attracted  to  him  by  the 
atmosphere  of  artlessness  and  good  nature  enfolding 
him,  and  the  lovely  inspiration  of  his  face.  We  shall 
therefore  cherish  his  image  as  we  would  an  ideal — as 
the  impersonation  of  looks  and  tones  that  darted 
instant  sunshine  into  our  heart.  And  thus  we  beg  to 
come,  with  kindred,  and  friends,  and  the  State,  and 
mingle  our  sad  sympathies  with  the  tears  that  have 
fallen  from  loving  eyes  over  the  early  grave  of  the 
poet,  who  **  to  the  good  brings  the  best." 


MEMOIR    NOTES.  25 

EDITORIAL  OBITUARY  NOTICE, 

PROM   THE   CONSERVATIST. 
DEATH     OF     WILLIA1\I      M.      MARTIN. 

It  was  with  unaffected  sorrow  that  we  read  the  sub- 
joined solemn  announcement  of  the  South  Carolinian. 
Mr.  Martin  was  a  young  man  of  brilliant  parts  and  of 
high  social  qualities.  Sincere  and  devoted  in  his 
friendships,  he  had  attached  to  himself  many  warm 
friends  tbroughout  the  State,  who  appreciated  his 
merits  and  admired  his  talents.  Among  the  many 
young  men  in  South  Carolina  eager  to  serve  her  in  this 
day  of  her  trial,  no  one  is  more  willing  cheerfully  to 
sacrifice  life  and  all  else  on  the  altar  of  his  country, 
than  was  William  M.  Martin.  Yielding  to  patriotic 
impulses,  he  intended  to  exchange  for  a  time  the  pen 
for  the  sword ;  but,  alas  for  the  uncertainty  of  human 
expectations,  his  hands  are  now  laid  cold  in  death, 
and  never  more  will  he  wield  with  his  uncommon 
grace  that  which  is  "mightier  than  the  sword."  It 
was  in  the  exposure  of  the  soldier,  as  we  learn,  that 
he  contracted  the  disease  that  terminated  in  his  un- 
timely death.  In  the  number  of  papers  and  periodicals 
in  the  State  whose  columns  his  writings  graced,  we 
were  always  glad  the  Conservatist  was  one.  Our 
readers  have  at  different  times  i-ead  and  enjoyed,  with 
real  pleasure,  his  entertaining  communications  ;  and 
now  that  he  is  no  more,  and  his  body  is  borne  to  its 
last  resting-place,  they  will  join  us  in  this  feeble 
tribute  to  perished  talent  and  departed  worth. 


2G  MEMOIR    NOTES. 

LINES 

ON    THE    DEATH    OF   W.  M.  MARTIN, 
BY  PROFESSOR  J.  L.  REYNOLDS,  D.D.,  OF  THE  SOUTH  CAROLINA  COLLEGE. 

Weep  for  the  early  dead, 

Tlie  funeral  wail  prolong 
For  him  too  quickly  sped, 

The  gifted  child  of  song; 
And  lay  upon  his  narrow  cell 
The  tuneful  lyre  he  loved  so  well. 

Furl  o'er  the  poet's  grave 

The  banner  that  he  sang, 
In  strains  that  shook  the  wave. 

And  o'er  the  mountain  rang ; 
And  hang  upon  the  cypress  there 
His  stainless  sword,  and  helm,  and  spear. 

Blest  be  the  warrior  bard, 

Whose  love  is  still  the  same, 
Ilis  country's  homes  to  guard, 

Or  celebrate  her  fame  ; 
Warmed  by  the  same  celestial  fire, 
He  draws  the  sword  or  strikes  the  lyre. 

Alas !  the  rainbow  hues 

That  arched  his  early  years, 
Transformed  to  clouds,  diffuse 

In  showers  of  falling  tears  ; 
And  he  has  won  a  warrior's  crown. 
For  whom  we  craved  a  bard's  renown. 


MEMOIR    NOTES.  27 

Not  where  fierce  squadrons  wheel 

Upon  the  ensanguined  sod, 
Amid  the  clash  of  steel, 

He  gave  his  soul  to  God ; 
But  sheltered  in  the  parent-nest, 
The  wearied  bird  of  song  found  rest. 

Weep  not  the  poet  dead ; 

Faith  whispers,  '*  It  is  well ;" 
While  round  his  lowly  bed 

Hope's  fragrant  blossoms  swell ; 
And  he  who  life's  dark  mazes  trod, 
Now  sleeps  in  Christ,  and  rests  with  God. 


THE  POET'S  GRAVE. 

BY  PROFESSOR  J.  I,.  REYNOLDS,  D.D.,  OF  THE  SOUTH  CAROLINA  COLLEGE. 

I  GAZED  upon  the  poet's  grave,  as  closed  the  funeral 

day; 
The  armed  array,  the  virgin  train,   the  throng   had 

passed  away ; 
And  from  the   temple's   sombre  walls,  the   shadows, 

dark  and  chill, 
Fell  lengthening  o'er  the  churchyard  sward,  and  all 

was  calm  and  still. 

All  still,  save  that  the  dripping  dew,  as  drop  by  drop 

it  fell 
From  leaf  to  leaf,  with  tinkling  tone,  rang  out  a  quiet 

knell, 


28  MEMOIR    NOTES. 

And   trickled   ou   the   silent   stone  wliicli  marks  the 

stadium's  bound, 
Where  life's  spent  coursers  reach  the  goal,  and  rest 

from  toil  is  found. 

The  night  wore  on,  the  moon  looked  down,  with  aspect 

sad  and  mild, 
And  lit  up  every  dewdrop  there,  to  deck  the  Muses' 

child ; 
For  she  had  heard  his  votive  Ij're,  and  caught   the 

lofty  strain 
Which  hailed  her   as  the  queen   of   night  amid  her 

starry  train. 

Mcthought  I  heard  a  distant  wail,   a  faintly  uttered 

dirge, 
And  from  the   dusky   shadows   saw   a   funeral   train 

emerge ; 
Such  plaintive  notes,  so  sweetly  sad,  such  mourning 

train,  I  ween, 
No  mortal  ear  hath  ever  heard,  no  mortal  eye  hath 

seen. 

First   came   a   troop    of  fairies   armed,    and   clad   in 

corselets  bright, 
With  burnished  helms,  and  shields,  and  spears,  that 

flashed  with  quivering  light ; 
The  guardsmen  of   the  tiny  flowers,  with  slow  and 

measured  tread, 
And  drooping  flng  an<l  nrmn  reversed,  closed  round  the 

poet  dead. 


M  E  M  O  I E,    N  O  T  E  S  .  29 

In  order  next  passed  slowly  on  the  feathered  minstrel 

choir, 
With  staid  and  solemn  mien  they  marched,  in  sable, 

sad  attire ; 
Bereft  of  him  their  favorite  bard,  forlorn  and  desolate. 
They  mourn  their  brother  minstrel's  loss,  their  own 

unhappy  fate. 

Next  came  a  band  of  beauteous  flowers,  the  poet's 

young  compeers. 
And,  sighing,  hung  their  drooping  heads  besprent  with 

dewy  tears ; 
The  playmates  of  his  sunny  youth,  their  rich  and  rare 

perfume 
Brought  forth,   with  verdant  wreaths,  to  dress  their 

faded  laureate's  tomb. 

From  gurgling  fount  and  rippling  stream,  from  vale 

and  mountain  side. 
From  nook  and  dell,  all  o'er  the  land  his  muse  had 

glorified, 
The  dryads  and  the  oreads  came,  the  nymphs  of  wood 

and  wave, 
Came  flocking  on   to   chant  the   dirge   around  their 

poet's  grave. 

Borne  in  their  trembling  hands  I  saw  the  dark  funereal 

yew. 
The  weeping  willow's    (railing  bough?,    the   cypress' 

mournful  hue  : 


30  MEMOIR     NOTES. 

Emblems  of  this  our  mortal  state,  memorials  of  the 

doom 
That  garners  with  the  ripened  sheaf  the  bud's  unfold- 

iug  bloom. 

The   seasons  came:    pale  Autumn,   clad   in  robes  of 

russet  brown, 
And  Winter,  with  his  withered  leaves,  and  dripping, 

icy  crown ; 
Next,  gentle  Spring,  with  seeds  and  bulbs,  to  plant 

the  mound  with  flowers, 
And  Summer,  with  her  golden  fruits,  and  tears  instead 

of  showers. 

Then,  in  the  long  procession,  moved  the  beautiful  and 

young. 
The  loved  and  loving  gentle  ones  the  youthful  bard 

had  sung ; 
And  they  whose  bruised  hearts  had  known  his  sweetly 

soothing  lay, 
Were  gathered  there  to  weep  their  loss,  and  grateful 

homage  pay. 

The  "golden  curls"  of  ** little  Lou"  lay  wet  upon  her 
cheek ; 

Poor  "little  Mae"  and  "lovely  Rose"  for  weeping 
could  not  speak ; 

While  "fair-haired  Mary,"  "Katie  Blair,"  and  sor- 
rowful "Lenorc" 

Caught  the  sad  plaint  of  "Natalie,"  and  sighed,  "0, 
nevermore." 


MEMOIR    NOTES.  31 

With  downcast  cj^es  and  heaying  breast,  the  -wayworn 
"  Stranger"  passed, 

And  "Lily,"  in  her  guileless  youth,  her  tear-drops 
falling  fast ; 

While,  drooping  in  her  voiceless  woe,  appeared  the 
saintly  mien 

Of  her,  the  queenliest  of  the  fair,  the  sweet  "Evan- 
geline." 

Within   the   churchyard's   open    gate    the    ranks    of 

mourners  pressed, 
And,  closing  round  the  dewy  turf  where  lay  the  bard 

at  rest, 
The  requiem  sang,  in  strains  so  sad,  so  sweet  beyond 

compare, 
The  angels  must  have  stooped  to  hear,  and  linger 

listening  there. 

Perchance,  they  lent  their  minstrelsy,  for  when  I  gazed 

on  high, 
Methought  I  saw  their  jewelled  wings  flash  through 

the  parted  sky ; 
Entranced  I  gazed ;    then  turned  to  view  the  poet's 

sleeping  bed — 
The  chant  had  ceased,  the  mourners  gone,  the  gorgeous 

vision  fled. 


32  :     MEMOIR    NOTES. 


laj\ient  for  ruby. 

TiiK  funeral  rites  arc  done, 
And,  like  Ihc  setting  sun, 

Thy  gentle  mem'ry  lingers  in  the  breast; 
As  when  the  rosy  day 
Passes  in  light  away 

From  yonder  west. 

A  star  from  Heaven  fell  down, 
That  with  its  radiant  crown 

Illumed  the  night: 
Darkness  and  ashes  now 
Sit  where  its  shining  brow 

Glittered  in  light. 

A  harp  has  ceased  its  flow, 
That  in  the  long  ago 

Poured  forth  yEolian  strains  : 
Silence  is  where  its  lay 
Rose  like  the  rising  day 

O'er  these  bright  plains. 

We  mourn  thy  early  doom, 
And  by  tliy  quiet  tomb 

The  violets  wreathe  : 
Roses  beside  the  spot 
Whisper,  ''Forget  me  not," 

And  wild  flowers  breathe. 


MEMOIR    NOTES.  33 

And  the  low  summer  breeze, 
Murmuring  upon  the  leas, 

Mourns  thy  sad  fall. 
All — all — is  over  now, 
The  sunshine  of  thy  brow 

Beneath  the  pall. 

EsTELLE  (Miss  TuoMrsON). 
Greenville,  S.  C,  Feb.  27. 


WILLIAM  MAXWELL  MARTIN. 

We  mourn  thee  a  bard,  a  patriot  gone, 

A  fair  child  of  genius,  a  loved  spirit  flown, 

The  young  heart  so  buoyant  witli  life  and  with  glee, 

The  withered  hopes  buried  for  ever  with  thee. 


The  harp  which  on  earth  was  attuned  to  thy  songs, 
Is  exchanged  for  the  harp  which  to  seraphs  belongs  ; 
And  the  scenes  of  this  world,  so  dark  and  so  drear. 
Have  been  left  for  a  brighter,  a  glorious  sphere. 


Though  great  is  our  loss,  yet  greater  thy  gain — 
Thou'lt  suffer  no  more  in  sorrow  or  pain — 
The  ancients,  prophetic,  were  right  when  they  sung. 
That   "whom    the  gods  love,    are   doomed  to  die 
young." 


34  MEMOIR    NOTES. 

Yet  sadly  wc  grieve,  and  aflfection's  tears  flow — 
For  nature  is  weak  and  o'erburdened  with  woe — 
But  tics  which  on  earth  are  so  painfully  riven, 
Will  be  reunited  more  firmly  in  heaven. 

While  sorrowing  hearts  were  surrounding  thy  bier, 
And  thy  requiem  mournfully  fell  on  the  ear, 
Hope  murmured,  "Sleep  on!  sleep  on!"  in  the  rest 
Prepared  for  the  saints  in  the  home  of  the  blest. 

M.  C.  P. 


THOUGHTS  OF  ONE  ON  THE  THIRTEENTH  OF 
APRIL. 

Low  and  lonely 

Lieth  he,  this  gala  day ; 
He  that  only 

For  this  longer  wished  to  stay,* 
To  behold  it 
When  fame  told  it 

Freedom's,  with  her  proudest  lay. 

Ere  our  flag  waved 

On  our  own  Fort  Sumter's  wall, 
lie  had  death  braved, 

lie  had  freely  ventured  all, 

*  In  his  last  conversation  with  his  father,  he  said  that  al- 
though entirely  resigned  to  death,  and  ready,  he  believed, 
through  the  mercy  of  Christ,  to  meet  it,  yet  he  desired,  if  con- 
sistent with  God's  will,  to  live  long  enough  to  see  how  things 
would  go  on  at  Fort  Moultrie. 


MEMOIR    NOTES.  35 

To  behold  it, 
Free,  unfolded, 

Waving  from  yon  flag-staff  tall. 

There  'tis  floating, 

0,  how  glorious  and  free ! 
As  denoting 

Light,  and  life,  and  liberty. 
But  ah !  never 
Shall  he  ever 

That  much  longed-for  sight  now  see. 

Bells  are  ringing ; 

Cannon's  boomings  rend  the  air : 
Lightning's  bringing 

News  of  joy  for  all  to  share. 
Him  it  wakes  not ; 
Ah,  it  breaks  not 

On  his  now  impervious  ear. 

Once  he'd  heard  it 

With  the  eagerest  of  them  all, 
AVhen  he  girded 

On  his  sword,  at  Freedom's  call, 
And  his  life  gave 
To  the  strife  brave ; 

Then  at  duty's  post  did  fall. 

Seems  the  shouting, 

As  it  comes  so  loud  and  near, 


36  MEMOIR    NOTES. 

As  'twere  flouting 

The  poor  weeping  mourner's  tear  ? 
No  !  no  !  never  ! 
For,  for  ever 

'Twill  be  as  his  requiem  <lcar. 

Joy  and  gladness 

For  the  battle  bravely  won  ! 
And  no  sadness 

For  the  brave  young  soldier  gone  : 
Trump  and  tabor, 
Sound !     His  labor 

Is  rewarded,  and  is  done.  M.  M. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  37 


l^m^ 


THE  SUNSET  PRAYER. 

The  gold-crustecl  gates  of  the  purple-hung  West 
Have  oped  to  receive  the  Day-God  to  his  rest ; 
While  the  handmaids  of  Thetis,  who  blushingly  wait 
To  welcome  the  monarch  with  songs  at  the  gate, 
Robed  in  soft  silken  C3'mars  of  roseate  hue, 
Are  preparing  to  scatter  the  diamond-like  dew. 

'Tis  a  calm  Sabbath  eve,  and  a  breeze  softly  blows, 
Perfumed  with  the  breath  of  a  newly-born  rose. 
And  the  envoy  of  night,  in  her  mantle  of  gray, 
Comes  on,  while  a  bird  chants  a  dirge  o'er  the  day. 


From  their  homes  in  the  heavens,  the  stars,  as  they 

rise, 
Look  down  to  the  earth  with  their  bright  loving  eyes, 
And  bright  loving  ej'es  too  look  up /rom  the  cartli, 
And  woo  the  sweet  stars  till  they  twinkle  with  mirth. 


38  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

The   Queen  of  the  night-time  —  the   silver-crowned 

Queen — 
Sends  her  heralding  raylets  to  lighten  the  scene, 
And  the  spectre-like  forms  of  the  Oak-tree  and  Pine 
Glide  silently  forth,  and  tlieir  weird  arms  entwine. 

There's  a  fairy-like  music  which  comes  through  the 

trees, 
And  the  murmur  of  waters  is  l)orne  on  the  breeze, 
And  sings  to  my  soul  the  sweet  anthems  of  streams, 
Like  the  mystical  music  heard  only  in  dreams; 
And  to  mortals  a  soul-filling  draught  is  once  given 
Of  love  and  of  beauty — a  foretaste  of  heaven. 

And  now,  all  regardless,  forgetful,  of  earth — 

Of  its  pleasures  or  woes,  of  its  sorrows  or  mirth, 

Of  its  triumphs  of  Science,  its  glories  of  Art, 

K prayer  would  well  up  from  the  depths  of  my  heart; 

I'd  pray  the  great  Father  of  Goodness  and  Truth 

To  pardon  the  wild  wayward  errors  of  youth, 

To  bring  back  the  Hope  of  the  blest  days  of  yore. 

And  give  me  the  Faitli  of  my  boj'hood  once  more. 


FLOWERS. 

Flowers  are  but  sunbeams. 
Prisoned  in  fair  chalices. 

Finer  far  than  rubies 
Glowing  in  rich  palaces. 


LYINGS    AND    SKETCHES.  39 

Dewy  drops  have  lent  them 
Diamonds  from  their  treasury, 

But  they  kiss  the  flowers 
Till  they're  paid  with  usury. 

Evening  stars  have  wooed  them 

Peeping  forth  so  cheerily, 
Till  their  bells,  the  flowers, 

All  were  ringing  merrily. 

Breezes  oft  have  kissed  them. 

Passing  by  so  airily  ; 
Summer  showers  refreshed  them, 

Drooping  down  so  wearily. 

Lovely  are  the  flowers, 

Seeming  almost  humanly  ; 
Tender,  fair,  and  fragile. 

Clinging  as  if  womanly. 


LITTLE   MAE. 

Flitting  through  the  passage-way. 
Smiling  sweetly,  bright  and  gay. 
Stepping  lightly,  little  Mae 
Came  and  stole  my  heart  away. 


40  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES, 

Roses  bloom  upon  lior  check 
Under  eyes  demurely  meek ; 
But  I  never  dare  to  seek 
To  gather  roses  from  her  cheek ; 


E'en  the  thought  would  make  them  bloom 
Blusliing  crimson  ;  quick  they'd  come 
Crowding,  till  there  was  not  room 
For  another  rose  to  bloom. 

She  has  tender  violet  eyes, 
Where  in  ambush  Cupid  lies, 
Whence  he  issues  to  surprise 
Me,  when  gazing  in  those  eyes ; 

And  they  beam  with  radiant  light, 
As  do  stars  on  summer's  night; 
Still  retaining  pure  and  bright 
Gleams  they  caught  from  heavenly  light. 

Lilies  blossom  on  her  brow 
Tare  as  is  the  driven  snow, 
White  as  angel  robes  they  blow 
On  her  clasi^ic  marble  broAV ; 

Down  her  neck  so  soft  and  lair, 
On  her  bosom,  they  are  there, 
Gleaming  on  her  shoulders  bare 
Arc  the  lilies  pure  and  fair. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  41 

Every  flower  that  blooms  in  May, 
Where  the  fairies  love  to  play 
Till  they  fly  the  coming  day, 
Joins  to  deck  my  lovely  Mae. 

Flitting  through  the  passage-way, 
Smiling  sweetly,  bright  and  gay. 
Stepping  lightly,  little  Mae 
Came  and  stole  my  heart  away. 


WHAT  IS  WOMAN? 

What  is  woman  ?     Not  a  bauble, 

Lightly  to  be  toyed  and  played  with ; 

But  a  partner  of  man's  bosom. 
Whom  he  goes  through  light  and  shade  with. 

What  is  woman  ?    Not  the  creature 

Of  a  day  or  joyous  hour, 
But  a  sunbeam  brightly  gleaming. 

When  the  darkest  tempests  lower. 

What  is  woman  ?     Not  the  being 

Of  to-day  or  of  to-morrow. 
But  through  life  the  patient  sharer 

Of  man's  sunshine,  of  man's  sorrow. 
2 


42  LYRICS    AND    SKETCUES. 

What  is  woman?     A  fair  flower 

AVlioin  our  gracious  God  batli  planted 

In  this  beauteous  earthly  garden, 
Till  in  liis  own  palace  wanted. 

What  is  woman  ?     Hark  I  the  angels 
Come  their  choral  anthem  singing, 

Wlnlc  the  golden  bells  of  heaven 

Loud  their  joyous  chimes  are  ringing. 

Thus  they're  singing  :   "  She's  an  angel, 
Sent  to  man  from  God  above  him, 

From  the  shining  courts  of  glory, 
And  her  mission  was  to  love  him." 


THE  COLONEL. 

He  lay  stretched  out  on  an  old  pine  log, 

By  his  one-eyed  horse  and  his  bob-tail  dog ; 

And  his  breeches  were  showing  by  many  a  rent 

That  their  lease,  though  a  long  one,  was  almost  spent. 

And  as  real  estate  you  might  class  his  shirt, 

For  its  cotton  was  long  since  buried  in  dirt ; 

And   the    brim    of    his   broad-brimmed    beaver    was 

gnawed, 
But  it  was  broad-brimmed   still,    for   the   brim  was 

a-hroad. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  43 

The  rays  of  the  sun  were  pouring  down 
On  the  place  where  his  hat  should  have  had  a  crown. 
With  emotions  of  pity  I  drew  near  his  bed, 
And,  gently  to  wake  him,  I  punched  at  his  head 
With  the  point  of  my  fishing-rod  ten  feet  long — 
For,  you  see,  the  Colonel  was  burly  and  strong ; 
And  as  he  turned  over  he  slipped  off  the  log, 
And  fell  on  the  back  of  his  curtailed  dog. 

The  quadruped  howled,  the  biped  bawled, 
Then  lazily  back  to  his  bed  he  crawled. 
"Awake,  thou  who  sleepest — awake  thee!"  I  cried  : 
"0,  man,  while  thou  slumberest,  is  passing  the  tide, 
Which,  taken  when  rising,  will  bear  thee  to  fame — 
AVill  lead  thee  to  fortune — will  gain  thee  a  name." 
He  grunted  out  something,  perhaps  'twas  a  damn, 
And  said,  *'Not  so  drunk  as  you  think  I  am." 

He  winked  his  eye  and  he  scratched  his  head. 
And  (omitting  the  oaths)  this  is  what  he  said  : 
"Hello,   Squire's  that  you?     Did  you  think  I  was 

drunk 
Because  I  lay  here  on  this  old  pine's  trunk  ? 
A  greater  mistake,  sir,  you  never  have  made — 
I  only  was  waiting  to  make  a  hoss-trade ; 
Old  Shepherd  will  come  here,  and  thinking  me  slung, 
I'll  take  him  for  fifty,  or  may  I  be  hung." 

I  left  him  there  on  his  old  pine  log, 

By  his  one-eyed  horse  and  his  bob-tail  dog, 


44  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

And  I  thought  to  myself,  as  I  sauntered  away, 

How  many  are  sleeping  and  losing  the  day, 

As  we  think.     But  not  so,  for  if  they  do  sleep, 

'Tis  only  with  one  eye — the  other  doth  peep ; 

In  a  moment  they're  ready,  with  might  and  with  main, 

To  seize  the  occasion,  some  profit  to  gain. 


NOT  WORTHY  OF  HER. 

WoRTUY  of  her  ?     Poor  girl, 
With  all  her  wealth  and  pride 

So  poor,  a  pauper's  son 

Might  scorn  her  as  his  bride. 

Worthy  of  her?     *'  Ding,  dong," 
1  hear  the  vendue  bell ; 

The  crier  calls,  "  0  yes! 
A  likely  girl  to  sell!" 

Worthy  of  her  ?     No,  no. 
My  purse  is  all  too  slim ; 

See  lordly  Dives  there — 

They'll  knock  her  off  to  him. 

Worthy  of  her  ?     Let  her 
Dare  to  my  height  aspire, 

Like  Danao  she'd  die, 
Burnt  by  immortal  fire. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  45 

Worthy  of  her?     Thank  God, 

I  proudly  answer,  "  No ! 
Worthy  of  her  ?     Not  I, 

I  cannot  stoop  so  low.'^ 


TO  MISS  BRENAN. 

(the  author's  first  poem,  written  in  1853.) 

Thy  voice,  whenever  heard  by  me, 

Sent  an  electric  thrill. 
Which  with  the  sweetest  melody 

My  longing  soul  did  fill. 

Its  brilliant  burst  of  harmony 
Did  every  sense  o'erpower, 

Nor  heeded  we  the  flight  of  time, 
Nor  marked  the  passing  hour. 

My  spirits  thou  wouldst  tranquillize 
With  sweet  and  simple  song, 

With  strain  seraphic  seldom  given 
To  any  mortal  tongue. 

Music  can  charm  the  savage  beasts, 
And  make  the  woods  obey ; 

It  leads  the  mountains,  and  the  course 
Of  rivers  doth  delay. 


46  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

Since  thou  hast  music  at  th}'  Avill, 
Thou  hast  fai-  greater  miglit 

Than  potent  kings  or  conquerors 
Victorious  in  the  fight. 

We  all  must  say  of  thee,  whene'er 
Thy  sweet  voice  wc  have  heard, 

Let  otliers  liave  tlicir  nightingales, 
We  have  ^^  our  mocking-hird.^\ 


HOME. 

Is  there  a  spot  of  earth 

Better  than  all  other, 
"Whore  fairest  flowers  bloom 

Fairer  than  all  other, 
Where  friends  are  round  the  hearth 

Dearer  than  all  other  ? 
There  is !     It  is  my  home, 

Sweeter  than  all  other. 

Is  there  a  land  where  stars, 

Brighter  than  all  other. 
Shine  from  the  heavenly  dome, 

Clearer  than  all  other, 
Wlience  pleasure  drives  all  cares 

Farther  than  all  other  ? 
There  is  !     It  is  my  home, 

Sweeter  than  all  other. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  47 

Is  there  a  place  I  love 

Better  than  all  other, 
Whence  I  would  never  roam, 

Roam  to  seek  another, 
Where  hearts'  affections  move 

Stronger  than  all  other  ? 
There  is  !     It  is  my  home, 

Sweeter  than  all  other. 


AS  A  GOOD  MAN  DIES. 

'Tis  grand  to  die  as  a  good  man  dies. 
When  the  fight  has  been  fought,  and  the  battle  is  won, 
And  great  deeds  of  daring  have  bravely  been  done ; 
When  glory's  bright  halo  encircles  his  name. 
And  the  hero  lies  down  on  the  death-bed  of  fame, 
'Tis  glorious  to  die.     More  glorious  by  far 
When  the  soldier  who  valiantly  strives  in  the  war 
'Gainst  the  armies  of  sin,  and  the  cohorts  of  hell. 
Who  fights  the  good  battle  both  bravely  and  well, 
Is  called  by  his  Captain  to  rest  from  his  toil — 
From  the  troubles  of  earth,  from  its  cares  and  turmoil, 
And  hears  the  earned  plaudit,  "  Good  servant,   well 

done ; 
Ascend  and  receive  the  reward  thou  hast  won." 
O  he  is  the  hero  who  conquers  the  king 
Whose  throne  is   the  grave,  and  whose   sceptre   the 

sting 


48  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

He  tears  from  his  grasp ;  and  the  sorrows  and  gloom 

And  terrors  which  dai'kly  encircle  the  tomb, 

Are  driven  away  by  the  God-given  light 

"Which  gleams  through  the  darkness  all  radiant  and 

bright, 
And  his  pathway  illumes  with  the  glorious  rays 
Which  beam  from  the  face  of  the  Ancient  of  Days. 

And  the  prize  which  the  good  man  gains  ! 

0,  'tis  not  a  laurel  crown  fading  away, 

Whose  verdure  remains  and  is  fresh  but  a  day ; 

But  a  wreath  amaranthine,  all  fadeless  and  bright, 

Whose  flowers  gain  beauty  from  heaven's  own  light; 

And  fresher  they  bloom,  as  their  petals  they  lave 

In  the  river  of  life,  'neath  its  crystalline  wave. 

0  'tis  not  a  coronet  sparkling  with  gems. 

As  are  worn  by  earth's  princes  in  rich  diadems ; 

But  a  crown  of  bright  stars  which  in  radiance  outshine 

The  purest  of  diamonds  from  Golconda's  mine  ; 

And  its  gems  are  good  deeds  which  were  secretly  done, 

And  brighter  they  beam  than  the  rays  of  the  sun. 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  49 

LEGEND  OF  L'ESPIRITU  SANTO. 

There  has  been  discovered,  lately,  a  flower  in  the  shape  of 
a  dove.  Its  wings  are  of  a  beautiful  light  purple,  and  the  body 
pure  white. 

"And,  lo,  the  heavens  were  opened  unto  him,  and  he  saw  the 
Spirit  of  God  descending  hke  a  dove  and  lighting  upon  him." 
Matt.  iii.  16.  _ 

To  the  Jordan,  swiftly  flowing, 
Jesus  came,  and,  meekly  bowing, 

Stepped  into  the  watery  flood  : 
From  the  lieayens  widely  rending, 
Came  a  pure  white  dove  descending. 

Lighting  on  the  Son  of  God. 

By  the  Jordan  swiftly  flowing, 
Soon  was  seen  a  floweret  growing — 

Witness  of  this  great  event ; 
Pictured  on  the  snowy  bosom 
Of  that  fair  and  fragile  blossom, 

AVas  the  dove  from  heaven  sent. 


A  MAN  DIES  NOT  TILL  HIS  WORK  IS  DONE. 

Let  Azrael*  come  at  early  morn, 

When  the  day  is  just  begun, 
Or  come  at  the  evening's  close — a  man 

Dies  not  till  his  work  is  done. 

♦  The  Death  Angel. 


60  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

Let  his  name  be  sung  in  marble  halls 
By  Fame,  in  her  loudest  tone, 

Or  let  him  dwell  in  the  pauper's  hut, 
Uncared  for,  and  all  unknown. 

Or  let  him  fight  for  truth  and  the  right, 

And  die  as  a  hero  dies, 
And  live  again  in  the  hearts  of  men. 

As  saints  to  their  heaven  arise. 


Or  let  him  strive  in  the  wrong  to  hide, 
With  error's  dark  cloud,  truth's  sun, 

The  avenging  sword  suspends  its  blow  : 
He  lives  till  his  work  is  done. 

Then  sorrow  not  for  the  budding  rose 
Death's  frost  has  withered  soon. 

And  grieve  ye  not  for  the  ripened  stalk 
Which  the  reaper  cut  at  noon. 

And  tremble  not  at  the  cannon's  roar, 
Though  thousands  around  you  fall ; 

Nor  fear  the  breath  of  the  venomed  plague 
When  you  go  at  duty's  call ; 

And  fearlessly  go  mid  the  Arctic  cold. 
And  hent  of  the  Southern  sun  ; 

For  the  might  of  death  can  ne'er  prevail 
O'er  man,  till  hia  work  ie  done. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  51 

And  the  man  lives  long  who  does  his  best 
For  those  whom  he  dwells  among  ; 

But  he  who  lives  for  an  hundred  years, 
If  he  docs  no  good,  dies  young. 


MY  CROSS. 

"  Why  do  5'ou  wear  that  cross ?    Are  j'on  a  Catholic  ?" 
"Yes,  lady,  I  am  a  Catholic,  hut  not  a  Papist." 

Lady,  I  am  a  Catholic  : 

1  do  believe  one  triune  God — 

The  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 

I  know  there  is  one  holy  Church, 

Blood-bought,  and  founded  on  a  Rock. 

The  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail 

To  cause  its  overthrow ;  a  Church 

Which  no  one  sect  will  ever  be. 

The  members  of  that  Church  are  they 

Who  are  true  followers  of  Christ ; 

Who  are  in  love  and  charity 

With  all  their  fellow-men  ;  who  fear 

Their  God  with  love,  and  love  with  fear  ; 

Who  do  their  duty  day  by  day. 

Such  are  its  members,  by  what  name 

Soever  they  be  called.     And  this. 

This  is  the  Holy  Catholic  Church. 

Its  hope  is  hung  upon  the  cross 
Whereon  our  blessed  Christ  was  slain ; 


52  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

Its  only  chrism  is  in  the  blood 

Of  Him  who  died  to  save.     No  rules, 

Or  forms,  or  ceremonial  rites. 

Are  its  essentials :  faith  alone 

In  the  Anointed  crucified. 

Not  minster's  spires  and  pinnacles, 

Nor  high  cathedral's  vaulted  dome. 

Alone  contain  its  sacraments, 

Nor  are  its  altars  only  there ; 

But  where'er  Faith,  Hope,  Charity, 

Have  made  their  homes  in  human  breast, 

And  by  their  fruits  give  evidence 

Of  their  indwelling ;  and  where'er 

Man  best  evinces  love  to  God 

By  love  unto  his  fellow-man ; 

Where'er,  with  simple,  honest  heart. 

The  God  revealed  is  worshipped,  there. 

There  is  the  Holy  Catholic  Church. 


And  like  some  glorious  beacon-light, 
Which  gleams  upon  the  troublous  sea. 
And  comfort  brings,  and  hope  of  home, 
Unto  the  sea-worn  mariner ; 
Like  some  grand  pyramid,  whose  top 
Cuts  through  the  thunder-laden  clouds, 
And  wears  a  crown  upon  its  head, 
An  aureole  of  electric  fires. 
Which  shines  afar  with  golden  light 
Upon  the  Simoon-driven  sands. 
And  lights  the  wayworn  wanderer ; 


LYEICS    AND    SKETCHES.  53 

Such  is  the  cross,  the  Christian's  hope, 
The  blessed  cross,  the  stay  of  life, 
The  hope  in  death,  that  blood-stained  cross, 
The  glorious  cross  of  Calvary ! 

Lady,  this  cross  upon  my  breast 

Was  once  a  curl  of  silken  hair. 

Upon  a  brow  as  purely  fair 
As  thine,  where  wreaths  of  lilies  rest. 

It  was  a  festal,  gala  night. 

And  fairest  of  the  throng  was  seen. 
With  roses  crowned,  Evangeline, 

Enhaloed  with  youth's  rosy  light ! 

Ah !  well  do  I  remember  now 

Each  joyous  word  my  love  would  speak,  ' 
Each  blush-rose  crimsoning  her  cheek, 

Contrasting  with  her  marble  brow  ! 

And  that  soft  curl  she  gave  to  me, 

That  silken  tress  of  bright  brown  hair. 
Than  diamond  wealth  of  kings  more  dear, 

Might  well  a  monarch's  ransom  be. 

Ah  well !  she  was  too  fair  for  earth ! 
Such  beauty  blooms  in  heaven  alone, 
Beside  the  Master's  great  white  thi'one, 

Where  Love  and  Beauty  have  their  birth. 


54  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

God  called  lier  home :  our  hearts  were  riven  ; 

Our  joys  and  laughter  all  were  stilled; 

There  was  a  place  could  not  be  filled  ; 
One  angel  more  was  gained  in  heaven ! 

I  wear  this  cross  :  when  wildly  rave 
My  passions— when  they  fill  my  breast 
With  dark  despair — it  bids  me  rest, 

By  faith  in  Him  who  died  to  save. 

It  is  my  talisman,  more  dear 

Than  coronet  or  carcanet  ; 

It  is  a  precious  amulet, 
To  guard  me  from  the  tempter's  snare. 

The  cross  my  sign  of  hope  shall  be 

Through  life  ;  and  when  my  failing  breath 
Forewarns  the  awful  night  of  death, 

Its  blessed  light  shall  beam  on  me  ! 

That  light  my  beacon-light  shall  be  ; 
Its  radiance  shall  dispel  the  gloom 
Which  hovers  darkly  o'er  the  tomb : 

That  light  first  shone  on  Calvary  ! 


LYRICS     AND     SKETCHES.  55 


THE  CROSS. 

The  Cross !  the  blessed  Cross  ! 

The  sign  of  hope  ! 

0  when  I  grope 

Through  clouds  of  life, 

Turmoil  and  strife, 
Before  its  light  may  shadows  flee, 
That  light  first  shone  on  Calvary. 

The  Cross !  the  blessed  Cross ! 

The  stay  of  life  ! 

When  cares  are  rife, 

When  storms  assail, 

And  foes  prevail, 
0  may  its  light  illumine  me, 
That  light  first  shone  on  Calvary. 

The  Cross !  the  blessed  Cross  ! 

The  hope  in  death ! 

When  gasping  breath 

And  failing  sight 

Forewarn  death's  night, 
0  may  its  light  my  beacon  be, 
That  light  first  shone  on  Calvaiy. 


56  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

WHEN  THE  SHADES  OF  EVE  ARE  FALLING. 

When  the  shades  of  eye  are  falling, 
Memory  often  is  recalling 

Names  and  faces  dear  to  me ; 
From  my  heart  I  banish  sadness  ; 
Then  with  mirth  and  joy  and  gladness, 

Dearest  maid,  I  think  of  thee. 

When  the  Sabbath  bells  are  ringing, 
When  the  joyous  birds  are  singing 

Merrily  from  every  tree  ; 
When  the  glorious  sun  at  morning 
Comes  "with  light,  the  world  adorning, 

Maiden,  oft  I  sing  of  thee. 

When  I  rest  in  peaceful  slumber, 
From  the  dream-land,  without  number, 

Lovely  visions  oft  I  see ; 
But  of  all  these  forms,  the  fairest 
Thou  art,  maiden,  and  the  dearest : 

Maiden,  oft  I  dream  of  thee. 

When,  before  the  God  of  heaven, 
By  whose  grace  my  life  was  given. 

Solemnly  I  bow  the  knee ; 
When  I  pray  for  all  who  love  me, 
To  the  gracious  God  above  me, 

Dearest  maid,  I  pray  for  thee. 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  57 


IS  THERE  Al  wave? 

0  God  !  is  there  a  wave 
Whose  waters  never  bring 
Remembrance,  as  they  sing, 

Or  as  they  lave  ? 

• 
0  for  that  Lethean  wave ! 
0,  could  I  but  forget, 
I  might  be  happy  yet, 

This  side  the  grave  ! 

0  for  that  Lethean  wave ! 
There  is  a  blessed  flood 
Whose  fountain  is  His  blood 

Who  died  to  save ! 

And  pardon's  in  that  wave; 
But  not  Oblivion  blest : 
So  here,  in  wild  unrest, 

1  live  and  rave. 


58  LYRICS     AND     SKETCHES 


LITTLE   LOU. 

Sweetly  and  brightly 

Lived  little  Lou ; 
Briglitly  and  sweetly, 

Lovely  she  grew ; 
Golden  curls  shaded 

Eyes  that  were  blue. 

Roses  and  song-birds 

Greeted  her  birth ; 
Song-birds  and  roses 

Joined  in  our  mirth ; 
Lightly  when  brightly 

She  came  to  earth. 

Chilly  and  dreary 

Earth  now  had  grown  ; 
Dreary  and  chilly 

Winter  had  blown ; 
When  Death,  the  King,  came, 

Called  her  his  own. 

Calmly  and  coldly 

She  takes  her  rest  ; 
Coldly  and  calmly 

All  whitely  dressed ; 
With  her  hands  folded 

On  her  pure  breast. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  59 

Kindly  and  softly 

Now  lay  her  low ; 
Softly  and  kindly 

Where  daisies  grow ; 
Close  by  the  river 

Where  waters  flow. 

Loving  and  living 

With  her  was  one ; 
Living  and  loving, 

Now  life  is  done  ; 
She  lives  in  heaven,  where 

Love  reigns  alone. 


KATIE  BLAIR. 

Katie  Blair  has  golden  tresses ; 
Katie  has  no  silken  dresses, 
But  she  has  a  laughing  eye, 
And  I  pray  you  look  away 
As  you  pass  my  Katie  by, 
For  come  arrows  from  her  eye, 
Wounding  careless  passers-by ; 

And  wondrous  fair 

Is  Katie  Blair, 

With  golden  hair. 
Katie  has  no  gems  of  art, 
But  she  has  a  loviug  heart. 


60  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

Katie  Blair,  among  the  flowers, 

Where  the  vines  are  wreathed  in  bowers, 

Where  she  hears  the  mocking-bird, 

Loves  to  play  the  live-long  day  ; 

And  her  singing  I  have  heard 

Sweeter  far  than  any  bird 

Or  music  I  have  ever  heard. 

0  very  dear 

Is  Katie  Blair, 

With  golden  hair. 
Katie  has  no  shining  gold, 
But  her  worth  can  ne'er  be  told. 

Katie  loves  to  wander,  roaming 
In  the  evening,  when  the  gloaming 
Comes  the  envoy  of  the  night ; 
Wraps  the  day  in  cerements  gray ; 
iFar  more  lovely,  far  more  bright 
Even  than  the  stars  of  night. 
Are  my  Katie's  eyes  so  bright. 

0  none  compare 

With  Katie  Blair, 

With  golden  hair. 
Katie  has  no  diamonds  rare, 
But  a  wealth  of  golden  hair. 

Katie  walks  with  me  together, 
Sits  beside  me  on  the  heather, 
Where  the  peeping  daisies  hide  ; 
Turns  away  whene'er  I  say. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  61 

<*  Katie,  will  you  be  my  bride  ?" 
Tries  her  blushes  soft  to  hide, 
When  she  says  she'll  be  my  bride. 

0  when  I  am  near 

To  Katie  Blair, 

"With  golden  hair, 
Then  I  feel  there's  kindly  given 
To  my  soul  foretaste  of  heaven. 


MARY. 

Mary  !  of  all  names  the  dearest ; 
Maiden,  of  all  maids  the  fairest ; 
There's  a  music  from  the  bells 
Of  lilies  and  of  asphodels  ; 
Softly,  lightly,  faint  it  rings. 
And  the  listening  love-bird  sings 
While  the  earth  the  moonbeams  kiss  ; 
What  he  sweetly  sings  is  this : 
* '  Mary,  though  thy  fortunes  vary, 
Still  thou  wilt  be  lovely— Mary." 

Mary  !  of  all  names  the  dearest ; 
Maiden,  of  all  maids  the  fairest ; 
Dearest,  thou  art  known  above 
In  heaven,  where  the  angels  love 
E'er  to  hymn  their  lightest  lays 
Chanting  holy  Mary's  praise 


62  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

In  their  blessed  homes  of  bliss. 
What  they  sweetly  sing  is  this : 
"Mary,  thou  canst  never  vary, 
Thou  art  pure  and  holy — Mary." 

Mary  !  of  all  names  the  dearest ; 

Maiden,  of  all  maids  the  fairest ; 

In  my  childhood  I  have  played 

With  a  little  fair-haired  maid ; 

'Neath  the  jessamine  I  sung, 

When  we  both  were  blithe  and  young ; 

When  I'd  slyly  steal  a  kiss, 

What  I  softly  sung  was  this : 

"  Mary,  /  can  never  vary, 

Be  thou  true  and  faithful — Mary." 


CARPE  DIEM. 

(LA     BELLE     JUIVE.) 

While  yet  youth's  garlands  wreathe  thy  brow. 
And  life  is  full  of  hope,  fair  maid, 

0,  gather,  gather  roses  now. 
Before  their  bloom  shall  fade. 

While  yet  joy's  wine-cup  sparkleth  bright, 
E'en  as  the  glance  of  thy  dark  eye, 

0,  drain  it,  drain  it ;  laughing  light, 
Before  it  passeth  by. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

Forget  that  roses  e'er  grow  pale  ; 

0,  think  not  now  that  hearts  grow  cold ; 
Forget,  forget  that  hopes  e'er  fade, 

Nor  think  that  love  grows  old. 

Thus  with  a  laugh  thou'lt  greet  old  Time, 
And  round  his  scythe  bright  garlands  twine, 

Till  thou  shalt  enter  that  blest  clime, 
The  land  of  love  divine. 


63 


YE  BALLAD  OF  MARIE. 

YoNGE  Marie  went  out  to  ac  ball, 

Begirt  in  fine  arraie ; 

0  none  was  there 

Was  half  soe  fayre 

As  Marie  with  her  silken  hose ; 

0  none  was  half  so  gale ! 

But  everywhere  fayre  Marie  went, 
Ye  people  all  did  laugh  ; 
In  all  ye  crowde, 
None  laughed  so  loudc 
As  Nancie  Brighte,  ye  rival  belie- 
None  laughed  so  loude  by  half. 


64  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

There  was  a  rent  eke  in  ye  heel 

Of  Marie's  stoclxing  white  ; 

This  caused  yc  route 

In  mirth  to  shoute, 

For  no  one  in  ye  merrie  throng 

Did  pittie  Marie's  plight. 

But  thinking  then  within  myself 

How  badly  Mae  must  feel, 

I  whispered  there, 

Close  to  her  ear, 

'<  0  Marie,  look ;  0  look,  I  praie, 

Look  down  to  your  heel." 

How  changed  then  fayre  Marie  was 

When  of  ye  evil  warned; 

Her  face  grew  redde. 

E'en  as  my  hedde, 

Then,  "Darn  the  stocking,"  Marie  saide 

Ye  stocking  it  was  darned. 


THE  UPPER  DOG  IN  THE  FIGHT. 

ANSWER  TO  THE  UNDER   DOa  IN  THE   FIOHT. 


I  KNOW  that  the  world — that  the  great  big  world- 
If  the  said  world  ever  thinks  right, 

"Will  applaud,  when  I  say  I'd  much  rather  be 
Neither  of  the  dogs  in  the  fight. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  65 


II. 


The  growls  and  the  snarls,  and  the  claws  and  the  teeth 

Are  not  very  comfortable ;  hence 
By  far  the  easiest  time  has  the  dog 

Who  carefully  keeps  on  the  fence. 


III. 


As  the  Grape-juice  said,  If  I  must,  why  I  must  ;* 
If  from  fighting  there's  no  way  to  stop, 

Howe'er  I  may  grieve  for  the  underneath  dog, 
I'd  rather  be  the  one  on  top. 


IV. 


For  you  always  see,  if  it  be  a  free  fight, 
(Which  it  very  often  is,)  this  is  so. 

That  every  other  dog  who  joins  in  the  row 
Will  pitch  into  the  one  below. 


Now  sympathy — it  is  a  very  good  thing — 
And  your  heart,  it  may  beat,  it  is  true ; 

But  while  it  is  beatin'  you  must  recollect 
That  the  dog,  he  is  beaten  too. 


*  As  these  italics  may  be  obscure  to  some  "pussons,"  I  take 
the  liberty  of  quoting  from  Worcester,  (Dictionary,  not  Sauce,) 
as  follows :  "  Must,  n.  [Mustum  L.]  new  wine  pressed  from  the 
grape,  but  not  fermented." 


66  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 


VI. 


I  've  always  found  much  the  safest  of  plans, 
"When  the  people  were  slioutmg  aloud, 

Was  to  hold  your  tongue  till  you  counted  them  well, 
Then  to  shout  with  the  biggest  crowd. 


VII. 


You'll  find  that  the  world — that  the  great  big  world- 
Will  ever  think  the  conqueror  right  ; 

So  I'll  fill  a  glass  full,  and  drink  to  myself, 
As  the  uppermost  dog  in  the  fight.- 


ROSA  HIDING. 

She  need  not  quickly  seek  to  hide, 
Nor  softly  whisper,  "  Hush  ;" 

I  hear  her  gentle  breathing  from 
Behind  the  myrtle  bush. 

I  see  a  white  robe  through  the  leaves, 

And  still  the  daisies  rest 
With  liowing  heads,  as  when  they  bent 

By  Rosa's  footstep  pressed. 


*  I  may  as  well  remark,  for  the  benefit  of  the  general  reader, 
tliat  the  foregoing  "pome"  is  remarkable,  not  so  much  for  its 
poetry,  as  for  its  groat  truth,  being  quite  the  rever.se  of  tho 
proverb,  "i'j  non  vci-o,"  etc. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  67 

And  here's  the  ruby-clasped  zone, 

Down-dropped  in  flying  haste, 
Which  ever  lovingly  did  cling 

Around  her  slender  waist. 


Ah,  well!  since  Rosa's  fled,  I'm  sure 

She  cares  not  now  for  me ; 
So  I'll  not  follow,  but  I'll  rest 

Beneath  this  willow  tree. 

There's  many  a  maid  with  brighter  eyes, 

And  fairer  face,  I've  seen; 
**  There's  just  as  good  fish  in  the  sea," 

And  better  too,  I  ween. 

So  let  her  go  ;  I  've  often  thought 

That  when  a  maiden  flies, 
Should  I  pursue  her,  I  would  pay 

Too  dearly  for  the  prize. 

Ah  !  here  you  come,  you  blushing  rose ; 

You  blessed  little  dove ! 
Come  let  me  kiss  those  tears  away. 

And  whisper  words  of  love. 

Come  let  me  clasp  that  yielding  Avaist, 

But  not  with  silken  zone ; 
I  only  jested  when  I  spoke. 

For  art  thou  not  mine  own  ? 


68  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

Ila  I  ha  !     "When  you  with  maidens  play, 
Dear  Dave,  you'll  find  it  true. 

That  when  you  will  not  follow  them, 
"Why,  they  will  come  to  you. 


MADELINE. 

With  a  rosebud  in  her  hair. 
Drooping  on  her  shoulders  fair ; 
"With  a  diamond  on  her  breast, 
Heaving  in  its  sweet  unrest ; 
"With  a  robe  of  pearly  lace 
Round  her  form  of  matchless  grace  ; 
"With  a  bracelet  on  her  arm, 
"Where  each  dimple  held  a  charm; 
Midst  the  maiden  throng  was  seen 
Blushing,  laughing  Madeline. 

As  the  songs  when  birds  rejoice 
Was  the  music  of  her  voice  ; 
As  the  stars  in  azure  skies 
Was  the  love-light  in  her  eyes  ; 
As  the  violets  was  she. 
Beautiful  with  modesty; 
As  the  pearls  beneath  the  sea 
Was  her  soul  in  purity  ; 
Bright  as  sunlight's  golden  sheen 
Was  the  heart  of  Madeline. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  69 

But  alas !  the  Tempter  came, 
Bringing  sorrow,  bringing  shame  ; 
Came  the  serpent  to  the  dove. 
Breathing  guileful  vows  of  love  ; 
Banishing  with  potent  charm 
Dream  of  danger,  thought  of  harm. 
From  her  innocence  she  fell ; 
Fell  from  heaven,  sunk  to  hell. 
Lost !  for  ever  lost,  I  ween  ! 
Ah,  well-a-day !     Poor  Madeline  ! 

In  the  wide  world  now  to  roam  ; 
Lost  for  ever,  love  and  home  ; 
By  contempt  and  scorn  dismayed, 
Seeking  not  for  human  aid ; 
Daring  not  to  raise  her  eyes 
To  the  cold,  unpitying  skies. 
'Neath  the  lake's  unruffled  breast, 
There  she  sought  eternal  rest. 
A  pallid  corpse  with  staring  mien ! 
Is  this  the  peerless  Madeline  ? 

But  the  Tempter — where  is  he  ? 
List  the  sounds  of  revelry  ; 
See  the  flashing  diamond's  rays 
Gleaming  in  the  torches'  blaze  : 
At  the  altar,  by  his  side. 
Stands  his  haughty,  high-born  bride ; 
'Neath  the  lake  the  other  one ! 
Thus  on  earth  is  justice  done. 
His  heart  has  now  another  queen  : 
Ah,  well-a-day !     Poor  Madeline ! 


70  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES 

I  KNOW  AN  OAK  TREE. 

I  KNOW  an  oak  tree, 

Where  a  jessamine  vine 
Around  the  old  trunk 

Did  its  tendrils  entwine. 
There  in  the  summer 

With  Mary  I'd  rove  ; 
There  in  the  evening 

I  told  her  my  love. 

The  vine  now  is  dead, 

But  the  oak  tree  is  there — 
Its  old  rugged  trunk 

Left  blackened  and  bare  ; 
I,  like  the  oak  tree, 

Am  left  here  alone ; 
Mary,  who  loved  me. 

For  ever  has  gone. 


TO  LENORE. 

Thou  art  gone  from  my  sight, 
Like  a  dream  of  delight 

That's  faded  and  vanished  and  gone  ; 
Yet  thy  picture  no  art 
Can  erase  from  my  heart. 

While  shineth  in  heaven  the  sun. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  71 

And  each  day,  as  it  flies, 
Comes  with  sorrow  and  sighs. 

That  I  bask  in  thy  presence  no  more ; 
I  love  not  another 
But  God  and  my  motlier, 

Like  I  love  thee,  my  dearest  Lenore. 


BLACK  AND  BLUE  EYES. 

I  'll  sing  of  the  black-eyed  maiden 
Of  the  bright  and  sunny  South, 

Where  each  breeze  that  blows  is  laden 
With  bloom  for  the  cheeks  of  youth. 

Let  those  eyes,  with  laughter  beaming, 
That  oft  I  have  gazed  on  long. 

Be  with  inspiration  teeming. 
The  theme  of  the  poet's  song. 

But  I  '11  sing  in  softer  numbers 
Of  the  maiden  fair  and  true  ; 

'Neath  whose  drooping  lid  there  slumbers 
An  eye  of  cerulean  hue. 

Yes ;  I'll  sing  of  the  blue-eyed  maiden, 
To  my  heart  made  doubly  dear 

When  those  brilliant  eyes  are  laden 
With  the  burden  of  a  tear. 


72  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

When  we  banish  care  and  sorrow, 
With  the  first  we  may  be  gay ; 

"When  we  think  not  of  to-morrow, 
And  live  only  for  to-day. 


Bui  when  well-loved  friends  are  leaving. 
And  when  sorrow  presses  sore, 

When  in  desolation  grieving, 
Wc  love  the  blue  eyes  more. 


A  PICTURE. 

The  sun  has  sunk  down  to  his  rest,  from  on  high; 
His  last  rays  are  painting  and  gilding  the  sky, 
Where  the  place  of  his  resting  is  gorgeously  told 
By  streakings  of  crimson  and  purple  and  gold, 
Like  the  heraldic  signs  on  a  banner  unrolled. 

The  topaz,  and  turquoise,  and  ruby  are  seen 
Where  the  tints  of  the  forest  are  changing  from  green, 
And  a  many-hued  carpet  is  spread  all  around 
Where  the  storm-scattered  leaves  ovcrcover  the  ground. 
From  the  tops  of  the  trees  comes  a  murmuring  sound, 
And  the  bells  of  the  lierds  ring  a  musical  chime, 
And  the  voice  of  the  stream  sings  a  mystical  rhyme, 
For  now  is  the  Indian,  soft,  sweet  summer  time. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  tS 

Where  the  light  from  a  -window  streams  into  the  hall, 

And  casts  a  broad  gleam  on  the  opposite  wall, 

And  a  tapestry  hanging  most  curiously  weaves 

In  intricate  windings  with  shadows  of  leaves  ; 

In  the  widcspreading  arms  of  a  soft-cushioned  chair, 

Covered  over  with  damask,  so  costly  and  rare, 

"Where  the  low-drooping  curtains,  half-opened,  disclose 

Lace  like  the  lily,  and  silk  like  the  rose, 

Is  a  beautiful  maiden,  so  graceful  and  fair, 

With  bright  loving  eyes,  and  with  brown  silken  hair, 

And  lips  gently  arched,  save  when  one  proudly  curls, 

And  shows  for  a  moment  its  treasures  of  pearls. 

On  her  cheeks  a  rich  cluster  of  roses  doth  rest,] 

While  lilies  disport  on  her  soft,  heaving  breast ; 

And  pure  as  the  white  robes  of  angels  they  blow, " 

Or  bright  as  the  moonlight  reflected  from  snow. 

Or  white  as  the  foam  where  the  swift  waters  flow. 

The  last  rays  of  sunlight  in  glory  are  shed 
Like  a  bright  aureole  round  her  beautiful  head, 
Till  she  seems  a  Madonna,  with  features  divine. 
Some  priest-guarded  picture  adored  at  a  shrine, 
Where  gleams  from  the  votive  lamps  glimmering  shine. 

And  her  name !    'Tis  the  sweetest  to  mortal  e'er  given, 
And  harp-striking  angels  resound  it  in  heaven. 


74  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  NEVER  CAN  DIE. 

*• O  there  is  not  lost 

One  of  earth's  charms."— Brtam. 

Not  one  of  earth's  charms  can  ever  be  lost ;  ] 

The  beautiful  never  can  die  ; 
All  tliat  is  lovely  and  radiant  and  rare 

Will  live  on  for  ever  and  aye. 

The  sunbeams  dissolve  the  dew-moulded  sphere 
Which  lightly  and  brightly  doth  rest, 

Like  a  radiant  gem  from  a  queen's  coronet, 
On  a  rose's  bright,  beautiful  breast. 

The  drop  flies  away,  on  a  shining  sun-ray, 

To  float  in  the  clear  azure  skies, 
Where  its  sisters  have  flown  to  catch  the  last  ray 

Of  the  sun,  their  bright  god,  ere  he  dies. 

They  hang  o'er  the  West,  a  drapery  grand, 

Of  crimson  and  purple  and  gold, 
Like  the  glorious  colors  which  gorgeously  gleam 

From  a  monarch's  rich  banner  unrolled. 

Or  float  they  down  from  their  realms  in  the  sky, 
When  falleth  the  soft  summer  rain, 

And  twinkle  on  flowers  or  leaves  of  the  trees, 
Or  spangle  the  grass  on  the  plain. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  75 

Or  when  the  winds  blow,  and  tempests  are  high, 

And  heaven  seems  darkly  to  frown, 
A  white-winged  snowflake  softly  flies  forth 

And  rests  on  the  Winter  King's  crown. 

The  autumn  winds  blow,  the  flowers  all  die, 

And  forests,  in  glory  arrayed, 
Drop  their  fairest  of  leaves  like  a  pall  o'er  the  grave 

Where  the  beautiful  summer  is  laid. 

But  voices  of  birds,  which  greet  the  young  spring, 
Wake  the  flowers  to  blooming  once  more ; 

They  ope  their  sweet  buds  as  lovely  and  fair. 
And  perfumes  they  shed  as  before.  ^ 

Yes ;  all  the  fair  flowers  which  God  loaned  a  while 
To  lighten  our  hearts  with  their  love, 

Shall  gloriously  bloom  more  beauteous  and  bright 
In  the  heavenly  gardens  above. 

For  none  of  earth's  charms  can  ever  be  lost ; 

The  beautiful  never  can  die ; 
All  that  is  lovely  and  radiant  and  rare 

Shall  live  for  ever  and  aye. 


76  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES,  j 

THE    rOET    AND    THE    CRITIC. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OP  AUGUSTE  KCEPPER. 

The  song-bird  rocks  in  the  Linden  tree, '' 
And  caroUcth  there  right  merrily  ; 
The  sunbeams  glance  from  his  shining  wings 
As,  gaylj  and  clear,  he  sweetly  sings. 

A  bull-dog  barks  'neatli  the  Linden  tree, 
Loudly  and  hoarsely  and  angrily  ; 
And  leaps  up  fiercely,  striving  to  climb, 
And  stop  the  sweet  bird's  musical  chime. 

The  bird  rocks  on  in  the  Linden  tree ; 

Looks  down  on  the  dog  all  scornfully ; 

And  though  the  dog  barks,  naught  doth  he  care  ; 

He's  high  above  in  his  realms  of  air. 


The  Poet,  the  bird  in  the  Linden  tree ; 
The  Critic,  the  dog,  carps  snarlingly, 
And  vainly  strives,  till  his  strength  is  gone, 
To  stop  the  song ;  but  the  bird  sings  on. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.'  77 


KATIE  AND  I. 

In  the  far  forest,  with  nobody  nigh, 

Merrily  wander  my  Katie  and  I ; 

All  the  fair  flowers  that  goldenly  gleam. 

Saucily  nod  to  themselves  in  the  stream ; 

And  I  cannot  but  think 

That  they  knowingly  wink, 

And  shake  their  green  leaves  at  us,  passing  them  by 

But  we  care  not — why  should  we  ?  my  Katie  and  I. 

'Neath  the  old  oak,  where  the  mocking-bird  sings, 

Tenderly  twining,  the  jessamine  clings. 

Drops,  like  gold  bugles,  its  bells  on  the  green. 

Sparkling  and  gilding  the  throne  for  my  queen. 

As  I  blissful  recline 

With  her  hand  clasped  in  mine, 

Beware,  have  a  care,  cries  the  bird  from  up  high. 

We  need  not  his  warning — my  Katie  and  I. 

By  the  swift  stream,  where  the  violets  grow,  '' 
Breathing  my  love-notes  in  whisperings  low,  ^ 
When,  with  blush-roses  o'ermantling  her  face, 
Modestly,  chastely,  she  meets  my  embrace ; 
Then  the  jealous  Blue-jay 
Screams  harshly,  "Nay!  nay!" 
And  his  brother  blue-jackets  all  join  in  the  cry, 
But  we  heed  not — why  should  we  ?  my  Katie  and  I. 


78  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

The  birds  to  the  flowers  have  nestlingly  flown, 

Where  tinkles  the  rivulet  over  the  stone, 

And  vows  of  young  lovers,  as  tender  and  true 

As  ours,  they  have  seen  all  dissolved  like  the  dew ; 

So  they  call  to  my  Kate 

To  beware  of  the  fate 

Of  loving  not  wisely — betrayed,  left  to  die ; 

But  why  should  we  fear  this  ?  my  Katie  and  I. 

For,  from  the  high  heavens,  where  love  had  its  birth, 

Love  purer  than  ours  never  came  to  the  earth ; 

And  long  as  eternity's  cycles  shall  roll, 

Wliile  God  doth  endure,  and  while  liveth  the  soul, 

In  the  heaven  above, 

By  the  white  throne  of  Love, 

While  sound  the  loud  anthems  to  praise  the  Most  High, 

We  '11  live  there,  and  love  there — my  Katie  and  L 


DUM  VIVIMUS  VIVAMUS. 

Cease,  my  own,  my  Natalie — 

These  are  things  too  deep  for  thee ; 

Strive  no  longer  to  discern 

When  thy  lot  shall  leave  the  urn, 

Or  when  adown  the  river  dark 

Thy  ghost  shall  glide  in  Charon's  bark; 

These  secrets  of  futurity 

Are  wisely  hidden,  love,  from  thee. 


'■    LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  79 

The  herald  conies,  my  Natalie, 
To  men  of  high  and  low  degree  ; 
He  swiftly  comes,  nor  ever  waits 
For  guarded  walls  or  brazen  gates ; 
One  word  he  whispers  in  the  ear 
Of  peasant  and  of  haughty  peer. 
The  warrior  hears  (kat  fatal  word, 
And  furls  his  flag  and  yields  his  sword. 

He  comes  to  some,  my  Natalie, 
When  first  above  the  burnished  sea 
The  rosy  morning  sheds  its  light ; 
He  comes  to  others  in  the  night, 
When  winds  of  winter  wildly  wail, 
And  ghastly  forms  and  spectres  pale 
Come  howling  o'er  the  ocean  waves, 
Or  shrieking  from  the  mountain  caves. 

He  comes  and  goes,  my  Natalie, 
For  none  so  swiftly  fly  as  he  ; 
Then  Death,  the  king,  with  sword  in  hand, 
Comes  hastening  with  the  cruel  band 
Which  follows  at  his  chariot  wheel ; 
And  they  who  bear  the  herald's  seal 
Tremble  before  Death's  awful  frown. 
And  bow  their  heads :  he  cuts  them  down. 

And  0,  my  life,  my  Natalie, 
The  herald  grim  must  come  to  thee, 
And  thou  must  fall  beneath  the  might 
Of  Death,  the  king  ;  and  then  the  night 


80  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES 

Wliich  broods  upon  that  river's  shore 
"Wliose  waters  chant  with  solemn  roar 
That  awful  dirge,  "0,  nevermore," 
Will  ne'er  be  o'er,  will  ne'er  be  o'er. 


But  know,  my  love,  my  Natalie, 
The  herald  ne'er  will  come  to  thee, 
Till  He  who  sees  the  sparrow  fall 
Has  need  of  thee ;  and  when  His  call 
Thou  hearest,  darling,  deck  thy  head 
"With  flowers  as  for  thy  bridal  bed. 
And  Death  the  terror-crowned  beguile- 
Disarm  the  tyrant  with  a  smile. 


A  rilAYER. 

For  Light — Light  for  the  darkened  soul: 
For  clouds  of  doubt 
"Within,  without, 
Their  gloomy  shadows  roll. 


For    Rest — Rest  for  the  wounded  heart: 
From  scenes  of  mirth 
And  joys  of  earth, 
^t  lougeth  to  depart. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  81 

For  Peace — Peace  for  the  troubled  breast : 
I  'd  fly  away 
To  realms  of  day, 
And  ever  be  at  rest. 


For  Home — A  home  in  Spirit-land, 
In  realms  of  light 
With  angels  bright, 
A  home  at  God's  right  hand.    '; 


WHAT  SHOWS  US  GOD? 


Of  whom  inquire  of  our  great  God  ? 

Not  of  the  learned,  great,  or  wise, 
But  of  the  trees,  the  clouds  around. 

The  beaming  stars  that  nightly  rise 
Tell  us  of  Him  who  reigns  above, 
Whose  nature  and  whose  name  is  Love. 


The  hills  his  attributes  declare ; 

The  mountains  make  their  Lord  appear ; 
Valleys  rejoice  to  own  their  God; 

And  flowers  sweetest  incense  bear : 
To  worship  Him  do  all  things  move, 
Whose  nature  and  whose  name  is  Love. 


82  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

The  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills, 

Tliough  dumb,  proclaim  their  mighty  Lord ; 
And  every  beast  that 's  in  the  field, 

And  every  warbling,  singing  bird, 
Tell  of  a  gracious  God  above, 
Whose  nature  and  whose  name  is  Love. 


WHAT  IS  LIFE? 

"  Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest."— Longfellow. 

I  ASKED  a  maiden  passing  by, 
With  rosy  cheek  and  laughing  eye, 
AVith  lightsome  step  and  lovely  face, 
And  form  of  fairy  mould  and  grace — 
"  0  !  what  is  life,  dear  maiden,  say  ?" 
She  ceased  a  moment  from  her  play, 
And  turned  her  eyes,  that  shone  with  glee, 
And  thus  the  maiden  said  to  me : 
"Life's  a  scene  of  endless  pleasure — 
Sweet  the  pleasure — dear  tlic  treasure ; 
0  !  the  world  is  brightly  fair. 
Here  I  'd  dwell — for  ever  here." 


I  asked  a  man  so  strong  and  bold, 
Who,  proud  of  birth  and  proud  of  gold, 
With  head  erect,  and  flashing  eye, 
And  stately  step,  was  passing  by — 


■    LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  83 

"  0 !  -wliat  is  life?"     He  stayed  a  while, 
And  cast  on  me  a  lordly  smile, 
Then  turned  his  head  the  other  "way, 
As  though  he  scarcely  deigned  to  say  : 
*'  Life's  a  scene  of  wealth  and  glory, 
Long  my  name  will  live  in  story ; 
Let  me  ever  here  remain. 
Crowned  with  glory,  blessed  with  gain." 

I  asked  a  man  now  growing  old, 

Whose  step  was  slow,  whose  bk)od  grew  cold, 

"Whose  feeble  form  and  shortened  breath 

Forewarned  the  awful  night  of  death — 

"0!  what  is  life  ?"     He  heaved  a  sigh, 

And  turned  on  me  a  tearful  eye. 

Then  slowly,  sadly  raised  his  head. 

And  weeping,  trembling,  thus  he  said: 

**  Every  day's  a  scene  of  sorrow, 

Followed  by  a  joyless  morrow; 

This,  alas  !  is  human  life. 

Scene  of  turmoil,  scene  of  strife." 

Now,  sorrowful,  I  turned  from  man 
To  where  the  rippling  streamlet  ran. 
And  asked  of  Nature's  countless  forms. 
Of  mountains  high  and  raging  storms — 
*'  0,  what  is  life  ?"     A  voice  came  up 
From  purling  stream,  from  flower  cup, 
From  mountain  top,  from  tempest  cloud. 
From  thunder's  roll,  and  shouted  loud : 


84  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.    ' 

"Truth  thou  seekest,  this  thou  learnest- 

Life  is  real  and  life  is  earnest ; 

Not  a  scene  of  idle  play; 

Thou  must  work,  and  work  to-day." 


LIFE  IS  A  RIVER. 


Life  is  a  river ! 

God  is  its  giver  ; 

Its  source  in  the  fountains 

Of  cloud-covered  mountains, 

Where  the  shades  of  the  unknown 

Brood  gloomily  over: 
Its  source  deeply  hidden, 
To  man  'tis  forbidden 

To  seek  to  discover. 


Life  is  a  river : 

Ceasing — 0!  never — ' 

It  flows  in  bright  bowers,    ' 

And  where  sorrowing  lowers ; 

Where  the  night  of  misfortune 

Shades  upland  and  meadow ; 
Where  joy's  light  is  glowing, 
It  ever  is  flowing, 

In  sunshine  and  shadow. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  85 

Life  is  a  river, 
Flowing  for  ever ; 
Ne'er  ceases  its  motion 
To  merge  in  the  ocean — 
The  sea  of  eternity  ; 

And  there  the  life-river, 
Where  human  history 
Ceases  in  mystery, 

Returns  to  its  Giver. 


THE  NIGHT  WHEN  FIRST  WE  MET. 

IMITATION  OF  "THE  NIGHT  WHEN  LAST  WE  MET,"   BY  CALDWELL. 

0  WILT  thou,  when  thou'rt  far  away, 

At  thine  own  peaceful,  beauteous  home, 
When  thou  art  happy,  bright,  and  gay, 

With  not  one  darksome  hour  of  gloom, 
Think  of  the  lonely  poet-boy 

Who  never,  never  will  forget 
That  brightest  hour  of  greatest  joy — 

The  night  when  first  wc  met ! 

When  on  life's  stormy  ocean  tossed, 
When  all  is  dark  and  drear  as  night. 

Thy  prayers  will  save  him  almost  lost. 
And  make  his  lonely  pathway  bright. 


86  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES 

Tlicn,  Miirj,  wilt  thou  think  of  nic, 
AnJ,  Mary,  canst  thou  e'er  forget 

That  brightest  hour  of  all  to  me, 
The  night  when  first  we  met ! 


TO  ANABELLE,  MV  GOLDEN  BELL. 

0  Anabellk,  my  golden  bell, 

Thou  hast  an  hundreil  thousand  chjirms ; 
0,  how  my  heart  and  purse  would  swell 

Could  I  but  clasp  thee  in  my  arms ! 
I'd  find  the  hottest  summer's  day 
As  cool  as  early  morn  in  May, 
And  winter  never  could  be  cold 
If  thou  wert  mine,  my  mine  of  gold. 

Thou  hast  no  wealth  of  golden  hair, 
No  rosy  clieeks  nor  eyes  of  blue; 

1  love  thee  for  thy  mind,  I  swear. 
Yet  for  thy  ]o\c]y  pursoir^'  too; 

For  thou'rt  tlie  life  of  my  delight, 
Thine  eyes  are  diamomh  in  ray  sight, 
Thy  teeth  nrc  pearls  of  countless  price, 
Thine  ivort/  arms  my  soul  entice. 


*  This  word  purson  is  spelt  by  the  common  herd  person,  but 
by  poetical  license  the  u  is  inserted  in  place  of  e. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCnES.  87 

On  yonder  bank  how  sleeps  the  light, 
(The  silver  light  from  crescent  moon,) 

Where  notes  are  payable  at  sight, 
Such  notes  as  make  a  merry  tune ; 

Come,  wilt  thou  wander  there  with  me  ? 

I'd  drink  deep  drafts*  of  love  from  thee, 

And  drafts  from  such  a  shining  rill 

Would  make  me  e'er  thine  own  good  Bill. 

Though  years  may  pass  above  my  head, 
They  cannot  change  my  love  for  thee ; 

And  though  thou  dwell  among  the  dead, 
Thy  dust  shall  ever  honored  be ; 

For  joy,  with  brilliant  golden  light. 

Could  only  make  thy  soul  more  bright ; 

Though  grief  in  fiery  billows  rolled, 

It  only  could  refine  the  gold. 


THE  COLLEGE  BELL. 

"  0  Ilorrida  Bell-a  /" 
(Said  the  Latin  jjoeta,) 

Most  dolefully  sounding. 
When  with  clapper  fcrctur. 


*  The  poctic.'il  iK'on.sse  lioro  agnin  ronios  mopt  sirnngly  into 
plaj-,  an<l,  Midas-like,  my  draughts  have  become  drafts/ 


88  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES 

And  ire  to  prayers 
By  campana  vocamuTy 

And  then  Tve  must  hasten, 
Or  by  Prsuses  culjyamur. 

No7i  scriham  Iambics, 

Nee  in  Trochaic  metre. 
But  with  good  old  dog  Latin 

Mea  inusa  placetur. 

Sell  scriham  no  further 
About  '■'•Horrida  Bell-a,''^ 
•    .  But  quxram  my  beaver, 

And  go  see  my  Fuella. 


ELEGY  ON  MY  CAT.  * 

And  art  thou  gone,  my  tabby  cat, 

And  left  me  here  alone  ? 
As  'cross  the  floor  each  mouse  doth  creep, 

1  feel  that  thou  art  gone. 

Sing  loud,  ye  rats ;  ye  mice,  rejoice ; 

Poor  Tabby  is  no  more ; 
No  longer  fly  in  fear,  as  oft 

Ye  did  in  days  of  yore. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  89 

Be  silenced  every  biting  tongue 

Of  each  calumnious  rat ; 
She  lived  a  good  and  virtuous  life  ; 

<'In  pace  requics-ca^." 


THE  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  BLACK. 

'TwAS  in  a  far-off  country  church, 

One  blessed  Sabbath  day, 
With  humble  souls  and  thankful  hearts 

We  gathered  there  to  pray. 

The  hymn  was  read  with  solemn  voice,    ] 

Succeeded  by  a  stir 
When  we  arose  ;  but  while  we  sung 

A  hymn,  I  saw  a  her. 

I  know  'tis  wrong,  when  one's  in  church, 

To  look  around  or  back ; 
But  eyes  are  eyes,  and  when  they  see 

A  little  girl  in  black. 

Whose  eyes  are  eyes,  with  lustrous  light,  ' 

Which  gloriously  do  shine, ' 
IIow  can  you  keep  yours  strnight,  I  pray? 

I  'm  sure  I  can't  keep  mine. 


90  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

She  wore  a  hat  whose  bending  rim 

Was  bound  with  drooping  lace, 
Which  zephyrs  lifted  when  they  sought 

To  kiss  her  lovely  face. 

And  through  the  lace,  like  stars  through  leaves, 

Came  radiant,  flashing  gleams. 
Like  sunbeams  from  the  diamond  dew. 

Or  moonlight  from  the  streams. 

But  oftentimes  those  eyes  were  veiled 

'Neath  lids  all  darkly  fringed. 
Which  drooped  until  they  swept  her  cheeks 

With  rose  and  olive  tinged. 

And  then  it  seemed  as  though  a  cloud, 

A  pearly  cloud,  had  sailed 
Across  the  blessed  sun,  and  all 

Its  glories  whitely  veiled. 

I  know  'tis  wrong,  this  staring  at 

A  girl  in  church  ;  but  then 
How  could  I  keep  from  watching  there    ; 

To  see  the  light  again  ? 

I  know  'twas  wrong,  but  do  not  tliink 

That  I  devotion  lack 
Because  I  would  keep  peeping  at 

That  little  girl  in  black. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  91 

It's  uot  my  fault,  and  should  you  scold, 

I  can  but  cry,  "Alack ! 
Why  did  she  look  so  witchingly  ? 

That  little  girl  in  black." 

But  it 's  not  wrong  that  now  my  heart 

Keeps  ever  calling  back 
The  brightly-painted  picture  of 

The  little  girl  in  black. 


EVANGELINE. 

Evangeline  !     There  is  a  star 
Comes  brightly  beaming  from  afar, 
AVhose  golden  raylets,  as  they  shine. 
Do  smile  with  smiles  as  sweet  as  thine. 


Evangeline !     Is  that  thy  home  ? 
At  evening,  dearest,  when  I  roam, 
And  Nature's  songsters  sing  to  me, 
I  see  that  star  and  think  of  thee. 


Evangeline !     That  blessed  light 
Doth  watch  my  resting  all  the  night. 
And  gilds  my  visions,  when  it  seems 
As  though  they  were  too  true  for  dreams. 


92  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

Evangeline !     Beyond  the  gloom 
Of  earth,  where  fadeless  flowers  bloom, 
0  taste  the  Lotus  leaves !  forget 
That  I  am  left — that  we  have  met. 


Evangeline !     In  azure  domes, 

Where  shade  of  sorrow  never  comes, 

'T  would  make  thee  sorrow  didst  thou  know 

My  sorrows  and  my  rayless  woe. 

Evangeline !     Beside  the  throne 
Where  love  perfected  reigns  alone, 
Though  thou  might  intercessor  be, 
I  cannot  ask  thee  pray  for  me. 

Evangeline !     There  all  is  light ; 
Evangeline !     Here  all  is  night ; 
And  my  poor  heart  is  darkest  seen, 
Evangeline !     Evangeline ! 


•       BEAUTIFUL  SALLIE. 

0  BRIGHT  is  the  water  that  flows  from  the  fountain. 
And  pure  is  the  snow  when  the  winter  winds  wail ; 

0  fair  is  the  laurel  that  grows  on  the  mountain, 
And  modest  the  violet  down  in  the  vale  ; 


V  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  93 

But  purer  than  snowflake,  and  brighter  than  water, 
In  beauty  excelling  is — somebody's  daughter ; 
And  fairer  than  flower  on  mountain  or  valley, 
But  modestly  blushing,  is  Beautiful  Sallie. 


0  blest  are  the  hours  which  fly  in  the  bowers 

Where  golden-tinged  sunbeams  rejoicingly  play, 
Where  richest  of  perfumes  arise  from  the  flowers 

When  birds  sing  a  requiem  over  the  day ; 
But  better  than  bowers  or  flowers  of  Aidenn, 
And    brighter   than    sunbeams,    I    know   a    young 

maiden ; 
And  sweeter  than  roses  where  humming-birds  dally 
To  drink  their  rich  nectar,  is  Beautiful  Sallie. 

0  fresh  are  the  breezes  which  blow  in  the  morning, 
And  bright  is  the  dew  on  the  grass  by  the  rills, 

When  first  comes  the  daybeam,  with  glory  adorning 
And  gilding  and  painting  the  valleys  and  hills ; 

More  glorious  than  morning,  when  zephyrs  have  kissed 
her. 

And  fresher  and  fairer,  is — somebody's  sister ; 

And  brighter  than   streamlets  where   fairies   should 
rally 

To  offer  their  homage,  is  Beautiful  Sallie. 


94  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 


IN  BOWERS  GREEN.— A  SONG. 

In  bowers  green 

The  Rose,  the  queen, 
Receives  the  homage  of  the  Breeze, 

Who  plumes  his  wings 

And  odors  flings 
Which  gathered  were  from  orange  trees ; 

Then  with  a  sigh 

The  Breeze  doth  die. 

The  Butterfly 

Comes  flitting  by, 
The  Rose  her  wealth  of  sweetness  brings ; 

He  has  his  will, 

He  sips  his  fill, 
And  then  flies  off  on  perfumed  wings ; 

Leaves  as  he  goes 

A  scentless  Rose. 

A  maiden  bright. 

With  heart  so  light, 
A  poet  once  with  rapture  loved ; 

But  she  preferred 

A  gay  young  lord 
Who  played  a  while,  then  careless  roved. 

Undone !  betrayed ! 

Alas,  poor  maid ! 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  95 


SUANNANOA   KIVER. 

If  there  be  one  who's  sick  and  weak, 
With  hectic  rose  upon  her  cheek, 
And  wishes  health,  then  let  her  go 
And  taste  thy  waters,  Suannanoa.* 

Thy  sparkling  waters,  as  they  roll, 
Bring  strength  to  body,  health  to  soul ; 
No  lovelier  sight  this  world  can  show 
Than  thy  bright  waters,  Suannanoa. 

'Twas  in  this  beauteous  Western  wild 
Roamed  the  wild  Indian — Nature's  child  ; 
Here  on  thy  banks  he  bent  his  bow, 
And  drank  thy  waters,  Suannanoa. 

'T  was  here  in  the  primeval  days, 
Amid  thy  reeds  and  blooming  bays, 
The  stately  stag  and  bounding  doe 
Drank  of  thy  waters,  Suannanoa. 

'Tis  here  that  nature's  lavish  hand 
Brings  beauties  forth  at  God's  command ; 
There's  mountains  high  and  valleys  low 
Upon  the  banks  of  Suannanoa. 

*  Pronounced  Svvannano. 


96  '     LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

There's  beauteous  shrubs  and  flowers  and  trees, 
There's  perfumes  floating  on  the  breeze, 
And  gentle  gales  of  incense  blow 
Upon  the  banks  of  Suannanoa. 


And  smiling  fields  of  golden  corn 
The  mountains  and  the  vales  adorn, 
And  fruits  and  beauteous  flowers  grow 
Upon  the  banks  of  Suannanoa. 


With  lovely  maiden  by  my  side, 
I  'd  launch  my  bark  upon  thy  tide  ; 
Adown  thy  waters  I  would  row, 
And  sing  thy  praises,  Suannanoa. 


KING'S   MOUNTAIN. 

IN  IMITATION  OF   MARCO   BOZZARIS. 

The  Briton  in  his  guarded  tent 
Lay  resting,  thinking  of  the  hour 
When  western  world,  in  suppliance  bent, 
Should  groan  beneath  his  power. 
In  thought  he  ruled  Columbia's  land 
With  rude,  unhallowed,  lawless  hand. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  97 

In  tliouglit  he  walked  through  court  and  hall, 
Then  heard  the  maidens  pauans  sing 
In  praise  of  England's  tyrant  king, 
And  golden  bells  all  joyous  ring. 
To  hymn  the  joy  of  all. 

An  hour  passed  on.     He  mused  no  more : 

They  called  him  to  his  post : 

He  came,  to  hear  the  rolling  drum 

And  sentry's  shout — "  The  rebels  come  !" 

He  came  to  hear  the  battle's  roar, 

And  see  Columbia's  legions  pour 

On  Ferguson's  proud  host. 

Then  quailed  beneath  the  patriot  crowd, 

And  heard,  with  voice  as  thunder  loud, 

Proud  Campbell  cheer  his  band : 

" Repel  yon  fierce  invading  host: 

Drive,  drive  those  hell-hounds  from  your  coast ; 

Be  this  the  warrior's  proudest  boast — 

To  free  his  native  land." 

They  fought,  like  heroes,  long  and  well ; 

They  fought — and  victory  was  theirs  ; 

They  conquered,  but  brave  Williams  fell, 

Bedewed  with  freedom's  tears. 

His  death  his  grieving  comrades  saw, 

Then  sorrow  hushed  their  proud  hurrah, 

And  God  received  his  soul. 

And  round  Jehovah's  throne  on  high, 

He  lives  in  angels'  company, 

While  years  their  cycles  roll. 


98  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

War's  fierce  contention  now  is  o'er ; 
America  at  last  is  free  ; 
Now  hushed  the  drum  and  cannon's  roar, 
And  Peace  now  reigns  for  evermore 
In  this  blest  land  of  liberty  ! 
Cleveland  is  with  the  spirit  brave, 
Shelby  with  the  angelic  band, 
And  Sevier  fills  a  patriot's  grave, 
And  Campbell  rests  in  angel-land. 
We  speak  their  names  without  a  sigh, 
For  pallid  death  can  have  no  claim 
While  Preston*  lives  to  give  them  fame 
And  immortality. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  ABENCERRAGES. 

The  frosts  had  followed  autumn's  blast 
As  came  with  steps  nor  firm  nor  fast 
Of  Abencerrages  the  last, 

A  noble  Moor. ' 

Leaving  the  shores  of  sunny  Spain 
Alone,  with  no  imperial  train, 
Launching  upon  the  boundless  main 

A  pilgrim  sad. 


*  In  reference  to  an  oration  at "  King's  Mountain,"  by  J.  S. 
Preston. 


'    LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  99 

His  race  and  kindred  all  had  died, 
Had  left  Alharabra  in  its  pride  ; 
Alhambra,  like  some  peerless  bride 

Of  Eastern  kinp;. 


He  sighed  and  left  his  fathers'  graves ; 
Sighed  as  the  storm-tossed  ocean  waves 
Sigh  through  the  startled  mermaids'  caves, 

All  fitfully. 

Then  striking  loud  his  sweet-toned  lute, 
While  nightingales  around  were  mute, 
He  sang  with  voice  like  silver  flute, 

So  sweetly  wild. 

He  sang  of  courts,  of  knightly  fame. 
Of  warrior  brave,  and  lovely  dame ; 
Then  sweetly,  softly  sang  the  name 

Of  her  he  loved. 

While  Lulu's  name  thus  sweetly  rung 

Through  woods  where  they,  when  both  were  young, 

Together  played,  he  also  sung 

This  plaintive  song: 

"Farewell,  Hispania!  How  I  grieve 
Thy  beauteous  gardens  thus  to  leave. 
Where  vines  their  flowery  garlands  weave 

For  maiden's  brow. 


100  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.    ; 

Can  I  thus  leave  thy  streamlets  clear, 
Thus  leave  thy  skies  and  balmy  air, 
Thus  leave  for  aye  my  Lulu  dear,' 

My  darling  one  ? 

Thus  leave  thy  shore-indenting  bays, 
Where  I  would  launch  (in  boyhood's  days) 
My  fragile  bark,  and  sit  and  gaze 

On  setting  sun  ? 

Ay,  thus  it  is,  and  I  must  goj 

To  other  lands,  where  breezes  blow 

That  bear  no  dreadful  shrieks  of  woe 

To  grieve  my  soul. 

In  other  lands  I  '11  lay  my  head 
Beneath  the  sod,  among  the  dead, 
Where  Christian  foot  shall  never  tread. 

Nor  cross  be  raised. 

Where  yet  through  fast-revolving  days 
The  maidens  chant  their  sweetest  lays,  '; 
And  sing  our  glorious  Prophet's  praise 

At  evening  hour. 

But,  Lulu,  must  I  from  thee  part  ? 

The  dreadful  thought  doth  pierce  my  heart 

Like  swiftly-flying  barbed  dart 

From  archer  strong. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  101 

Yes,  but  at  last  to  Paradise, 
"When  faithful  Moslem  shall  arise 
In  one  dear  beauteous  houri's  eyes, 

I  '11  see  my  love. 

For  thou  'rt  my  love,  my  life,  my  soul ; 
And  when  I've  reached  that  happy  goal, 
We'll  love  while  ages  onward  roll, 

Eternally." 

He  stopped.     The  waves  against  the  shore 
In  countless  numbers,  dashing,  pour : 
The  music  of  old  ocean's  roar 

Alone  was  heard. 


He  stepped  upon  a  stately  bark ; 

The  air  was  calm,  serene but  hark ! 

That  rolling  thunder !  see  how  dark 

And  black  the  sky. 

An  awful  storm  all  sudden  rose, 

All  quivering  Avitli  the  tempest  throes : 

In  vain  the  stout  bark  might  oppose 

The  furious  blast. 

Ah!  'twas  his  sad,  untimely  doom 
To  perish  in  the  tempest's  gloom ; 
An  amber  cave  his  only  tomb, 

Where  now  he  sleeps. 


102  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

The  mermaids  watch  his  lonely  grave, 
And  as  those  shores  they  gently  lave, 
A  voice  comes  up  from  every  wave, 

And  chants  a  dirge. 

While  sitting  near  Alhambra's  gate, 
Fair  Lulu  mourns  her  lover's  fate  ; 
Impatient  doth  the  summons  wait 

To  join  her  love. 


A  CURSE  AND  A  BLESSING. 

I  CURSE  thee,  new-born  year ! 
Thou  com'st  full  fraught  with  care, 

And  bringing  woe, 

Full  well  I  know, 
For  the  child  of  earth. 

In  pleasure's  room 

Comes  rayless  gloom 
For  the  cheerful  hearth. 
I  curse  thee,  new-born  year! 

I  curse  thee,  new-born  year ! 
For  loved  ones  are  not  here  ; 

Thy  roses  bloom 

To  mock  my  gloom ; 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  103 

Thou  art  gay  and  bright, 

But  I  must  moan, 

Dark  and  alone, 
In  my  sorrow's  night. 
I  curse  thee,  new-born  year ! 

I  bless  thee,  new-born  year, 
For  thou  dost  make  appear 

Such  visions  bright, 

In  roseate  light, 
Of  a  better  day. 

When  pain  and  toil 

And  life's  turmoil 
Will  be  passed  away. 
I  bless  thee,  new-born  year. 

I  bless  thee,  new-born  year, 
For  thou  dost  bring  me  near 

To  home  and  heaven. 

Where  balm  is  given 
To  the  troubled  breast ; 

Where  there  is  peace, 

AVhere  the  wicked  cease, 
And  the  weary  rest. 
I  bless  thee,  new-born  year. 


104  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES 


ISI  U  S  I  N  G  S  . 

0  !  BLESSED  days  of  boyhood,  passed 
For  ever  from  me  ;  flying  fast, 

Ere  yet  I  knew  liow  rich  a  prize 

Was  mine.     How  bright  then  seemed  the  skies, 

And  flowers  bloomed  fairer  then  than  now ; 

There  was  a  dew  upon  my  brow, 

By  angel  spirits  kindly  shed 

Upon  Youth's  rose-wreaths  round  my  head. 

The  roses  all  are  withered  now  ; 

There  is  a  moisture  on  my  brow, 

But  0,  it  is  the  damp  of  death ! 

1  feel  no  longer  perfumed  breath 
Of  breezes  playing  round  my  hair, 
And  whispering  music  in  my  ear ; 
No  laughing  zephyrs  kiss  my  cheek, 
But,  listening,  one  may  hear  a  shriek 
Amid  the  stillness  of  the  night, 

Which  well  might  chill  his  blood  with  fright ; 

'T  is  when  the  Fever's  simoon  blast 

Has  hurried,  scorching,  withering  past ; 

When,  almost  bursting  from  its  vein, 

The  blood,  like  lightning,  through  my  brain 

Has  seared  its  way ;  and  with  a  moan 

And  shriek  scared  Reason  leaves  her  throne. 

0  Life !  Life  ! 
With  all  thy  tumults,  wars,  and  strife ; 
With  all  thy  swiftly -fading  joys, 
Thy  gewgaws,  and  thy  gilded  toys, 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  105 

Thy  bubbles,  and  thy  syren  song 
Of  "  Life  is  short  and  Art  is  long ;" 
When  longest  Art  can  ne'er  extend 
Faint  pleasures  to  Life's  quickest  end, 
What  art  thou,  but  a  grievous  weight 
Impended  by  the  thread  of  Fate, 
From  which  we  'd  gladly  fly  ?     But  then 
We  only  die  to  live  again. 


VISIONS. 


I  SEE  some  happy  children 
Playing  'mong  the  roses ; 

Their  laughter  sweet  is  ringing 
As  they  gather  posies. 


I  see  their  father  coming ; 

The  children  leave  their  play, 
And  run  to  give  him  kisses ; 

For  'tis  his  natal  day. 


And  one,  the  rest  outstripping, 
A  beauteous,  merry  boy, 

His  father  now  is  clasping 
Close  to  his  arms  with  joy. 
4 


106  LYRICS     AND     SKETCHES 

I  see  a  smiling  mother ; 

A  babe  is  on  her  breast, 
And  there  the  little  cherub 

In  happiness  doth  rest. 

'Tis  like  a  little  rosebud 
Just  peeping  on  the  day, 

To  watch  the  shining  insects 
As  the}''  around  it  play. 

A  sister,  near  her  standing, 

Plucks  shining  jessamine  leaves, 

And  from  the  leaves  and  flowers 
A  beauteous  garland  weaves. 

But  now  the  scene  is  changing  : 
Ten  years  have  passed  away ; 

New  visions  are  before  me, 
And  0,  how  changed  are  they  ! 

Two  of  those  playing  children 
Alone  arc  there  to-day ; 

One  other  is  far  distant, 
And  one  has  passed  away. 

That  rosebud  now  is  blooming, 
A  blushing,  half-blown  rose, 

And  brighter  still,  and  fairer, 
With  every  day  she  grows. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  107 

Another  pretty  babelct 

Is  on  his  mother's  knee. 
But  now  a  brighter  vision 

Appeareth  unto  mc : 

I  see  an  angel  being ; 

A  harp  is  in  his  hands  ; 
His  rustling  wings  spread  odors 

Fresh  from  the  spirit-lands. 

I  hear  him  softly  whisper, 

"  0  sisters,  brothers,  come  ; 
Come  to  these  blessed  regions, 

Where  God  has  made  your  home. 

0  leave  this  world  of  sorrow, 

And  come  with  me  to  heaven : 
A  happy  home  and  glorious 

To  each  one  shall  be  given." 

And  now  the  scene  dissolving 

Is  fading  from  my  sight ; 
The  stars  are  brightly  shining  ; 

I  look  around — 'tis  night. 

And  now  while  I  am  joining 

The  busy  throng  of  life, 
And  every  day  am  mingling 

And  struggling  in  its  strife  ; 


108  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES 

As  now  my  place  I'm  taking 
Among  the  ranks  of  men, 

0  every  day  I'm  wishing 
I  were  a  boy  again. 


THREE  SIGHTS  OF  MARY. 


I  SAW  her  as  a  maiden ; 

Like  marble  was  her  brow, 
And  on  her  cheeks  were  roses ; 
Methinks  I  see  her  now  : 
0  none  so  rare, 
0  none  so  fair 
As  Mary  was  when  first  the  light 
Of  her  dark  eyes  shone  on  my  sight. 


I  saw  her  as  a  matron ; 

She  clasped  close  in  her  arms 
A  lovely,  smiling  infant. 

Blessed  with  its  mother's  charms 
0  none  so  fair 
As  to  compare 
With  Mary  when  her  matron  eyes 
Looked  prayerfully  unto  the  skies. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  109 

I  saw  her  in  her  coffin, 

And  heard  the  death-bells  toll, 
When  angels  were  rejoicing 
That  heaven  had  gained  a  soul. 
0  none  more  bright 
With  radiant  light 
Than  Mary,  with  angelic  wings. 
As  round  God's  throne  she  sweetly  sings. 


THE  LONELY  GRAVE. 


*Neath:  a  spreading  tree,  in  a  quiet  nook. 
By  the  sparkling  waves  of  a  bubbling  brook, 

They  left  their  angel  boy : 
There  they  hollowed  for  him  a  narrow  grave, 
Where  a  murmur  rose  from  the  streamlet's  wave. 

And  left  its  note  of  joy. 


There  the  modest  violet  raised  its  head, 
There  the  woodbine  waved  o'er  his  lowly  bed 

And  shed  a  rich  perfume ; 
While  a  warbling  bird,  with  its  sweetest  strain, 
A  requiem  seemed  as  if  chanting  then 

Over  his  silent  tomb. 


110  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

Though  his  body  lie  'iicatli  the  coW  green  soil, 
They  never  grieve,  for  they  know  to  God 

His  spirit  hath  been  given  ; 
Tliougli  tliey  know  in  the  grave  that  he  will  sleep  long, 
Yet  the  angels  came  with  their  sweetest  song 

And  bore  his  soul  to  heaven. 


TO    LILY. 

There's  never  a  chalice, 

In  castle  or  palace, 
As  fine  as  the  Lily,  as  graceful  or  fair ; 

There's  never  a  maiden, 

Not  living  in  Aidenn, 
Can  with  little  Lily  in  beauty  compare. 

There 's  never  a  flower, 

In  garden  or  bower, 
As  white  as  the  LUy,  as  spotless  and  pure  ; 

There's  never  an  eye-light, 

Though  bright  as  the  sky-light, 
Can,  like  little  Lily's,  so  softly  allure. 

The  stars  high  above  her 

Look  down,  and  they  love  her; 
They  envy  my  Lily,  so  jturc  and  so  bright ; 

But  though  they  are  seeming 

So  brilliant  and  gloaming, 
My  soul  they  can  never  so  sweetly  delight. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  Ill 


ROSA. 

0 !  Rosa  knows  where  grows  a  rose 

Beneath  a  willow  tree, 
Where  music  swells  from  Lily  bells 

In  sweetest  melody. 
'Twas  there  we  sat  in  summer  time, 

Beneath  soft,  starlit  skies. 
And  heard  the  distant  vesper-chime, 

When  evening  prayers  arise ; 
And  from  my  heart  a  prayer  uprose 
To  God,  to  guard  my  lovely  Rose. 

A  crown  she  wound,  and  bound  around 

With  roses,  gorgeously ; 
(It  was  a  sprig,  a  bending  twig, 

From  off  the  willow  tree ;) 
And  with  the  roses  did  entwine 

Pansies  and  King-cups  bright, 
With  tendrils  from  the  Eglantine, 

And  Lilies  purely  white; 
Then,  crowned  with  beauty,  she  arose. 
Herself  a  rose,  my  blushing  Rose. 

With  queenly  mien,  serenely  seen, 
While  vassals  crowded  round, 

(The  bending  beaux  saluting  Rose,) 
Was  Rose  with  roses  crowned ; 


112  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

And  where  she  moved  vrith  stately  grace, 

A  "Glory"  seemed  to  shine 
Around  her  head  and  on  her  face, 

AVith  radiance  all  divine  ; 
And  there  I  swore,  "Come  joys  or  woes, 
My  soul's  own  queen  is  lovely  Rose." 

0  bright  the  light  (and  quite  as  bright 

The  light  in  Rosa's  eye) 
Which  shone  from  walls  in  marble  balls, 

When  mirth  was  rising  high; 
And  joyous  maidens  gleeful  laughed. 

Amid  the  merry  dance  ; 
"While  wine,  from  brimming  beakers  quaffed, 

"Was  bright  as  maiden's  glance  ; 
And  when  the  goblets  high  uprose, 
"We  drained  them  dry  to  lovely  Rose. 

Though  rare  and  fair,  there's  none  so  dear 

Among  the  maiden  throng, 
"Whose  smiles  are  bright  with  Love's  own  light. 

Whose  hearts  gush  forth  in  song. 
0,  in  the  heavenly  courts  above. 

Beside  th'  eternal  throne, 
There's  naught  more  pure  than  is  the  lovo 

Of  her  1  call  my  own  ; 
And  purely  from  my  heart  outgoes 
A  wealth  of  love  for  lovely  Rose. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  113 


TERFUMES,  BIRDS,  AND   FLOWERS. 

Stabry  heavens  arc  o'er  me  shining ! 
0,  ye  flowers  o'er  me  twining, 
Bind  a  wreath ;  bind  a  wreath  ; 
While  I  quietly  beneath 
Sing  a  song  of  love  and  hope, 
Where  the  daisy  petals  ope, 
While  a  heavenly  emotion 
Thrills  and  fills  me  with  devotion. 


Lily  bells  are  round  me  ringing  ! 
0  ye  love-birds,  round  me  singing. 
Sing  your  song ;  sing  your  song ! 
And  the  lingering  strain  prolong 
By  the  prattling,  purling  stream, 
Where  I  now  recline  and  dream ; 
Every  vision  in  my  dreaming 
Brightly  iridescent  seeming. 

Dewy  drops  are  near  me  sleeping  ! 

0  ye  breezes  near  me  creeping, 

Perfumes  bring ;  perfumes  bring ! 

Where  the  blithesome  blue-birds  sing ; 

Never  from  me  more  remove, 

While  I  softly  tell  my  love 

In  these  beatific  bowers, 

Blest  with  Perfumes,  Birds,  and  Flowers. 


114  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 


THAT    ONE. 

I  KNOW  not  who  ^^that  one''  may  be, 
Nor  where  ^'(hat  one''  may  dwell ; 

Enough  tliat  she  is  ilcar  to  thee, 
And  loveth  thee  as  well. 


And  thou  hast  gained,  thrice  happy  friend, 

A  goddess  for  that  shrine 
Where  Truth's  sweet  incense  doth  ascend, 

And  Love's  own  roses  twine. 


My  heart,  alas  !  is  like  a  tomb 
Where  boyhood's  hopes  lie  dead  ; 

"Where  Memory's  lamp  doth  o'er  the  gloom 
Pale,  fitful  gloamings  shed. 


But  blest  art  thou ;  though  cold  the  blast 
Of  Life's  storms  round  thee  blow, 

Thou  hast  a  hope,  an  anchor  fast, 
And  love's  light  at  thy  prow. 

For  thee  there  is  a  light  which  gleams 

O'er  life's  (ompestuous  sea  ; 
A  sign  of  i»rt)iiiisc,  as  it  beams. 

Of  home  and  rest  to  thee. 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  115 

I  know  that  by  thy  path  in  life 

Were  thorns  more  thick  than  roses ; 

And  oft  a  sigh  a  former  strife 
And  trial  fierce  discloses. 


But  thou  hast  reached  the  haven  now ; 

The  breakers  all  are  past, 
And  hope's  bright  birds  are  singing ;  thou 

Hast  j)eace  and  joy  at  last. 

0  may  henceforth  no  storms  molest 

Thee  with  thy  dear  convoy  ; 
Nor  carking  care  disturb  thy  rest, 

Nor  grief  o'ercloud  thy  joy. 


MY    LOVE. 

My  love  was  like  a  fairy  queen 

Robed  for  her  coronation ; 
The  Rose  of  all  the  world  to  me, 

My  Pearl  of  all  creation. 

Her  cheeks  were  like  the  soft  peach-down, 
'Neath  which  the  red  is  showing ; 

Or  like  the  velvet  on  the  grape, 

Through  which  the  wine  is  glowing. 


IIG  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

And  in  her  dark  eyes*  wondrous  depths 

I  plearaings  oft  was  seeing 
Of  that  love-light  within  her  heart, 

The  essence  of  her  being. 

Ah  well !  'tis  so,  that  some  must  dwell 

Amid  the  courts  of  sorrow, 
"While  others  see  each  joyous  day 

Precede  a  happier  morrow. 

And  one  with  happier  fate  than  mino 
Has  gained  that  glorious  treasure, 

AVhile  1  drag  out  the  long,  long  days, 
And  weary  moments  measure. 

Anotlicr  dwells  upon  those  lips 
Which  once  to  me  were  heaven ; 

'Twas  from  that  heaven  the  lightning  fell 
Which  my  sad  heart  has  riven. 


'TIS  THEN  I  THINK  OF  THEE. 

In  the  morning,  when  the  sunlight 
Comes  to  kiss  the  vales  an<l  hills, 

When  a  tlirong  of  sweet  emotions 
Through  my  inmost  being  thrills, 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  117 

When  all  nature  is  most  lovely, 
When  the  birds  sing  wild  and  free, 

When  the  flowers  bloom  their  brightest, 
0  'tis  then  I  think  of  thee ! 

In  the  evening,  when  the  gloaming 

Wraps  the  earth  in  mantle  gray, 
When  the  song-bird,  home  returning, 

Sings  a  sad  dirge  o'er  the  day. 
When  the  silver  moon  is  rising 

Brightly  beauteous  o'er  the  lea, 
When  within  myself  communing, 

0  't  is  then  I  think  of  thee  ! 

In  the  night-time,  when  the  starlight 

Shines  so  softly  from  the  sky, 
When  these  myriad  worlds  are  showing 

Brilliant  glories  to  the  eye, 
When  my  soul,  from  earth  escaping. 

Looks  into  futurity, 
When  I  feel  myself  immortal, 

0  't  is  then  I  think  of  thee ! 

Thus  it  is,  that  in  the  morning, 

When  earth  woos  the  sunbeams  bright, 
Thus  it  is,  that  when  the  evening 

Comes,  foreshadowing  the  night, 
When  the  grandest  works  of  nature 

In  their  brightest  forms  I  see. 
When  my  soul  is  filled  with  beauty, 

0  'tis  then  I  think  of  thee! 


118  LYRICS     AND     SKETCHES 


THE  CIRCASSIAN. 


'NEATn  a  palm  tree,  by  a  fountain, 

Where  the  Arabs  love  to  roam, 
Sat  a  maiden,  from  the  mountain 
Caucasus,  where  was  her  home, 
Singing  only, 
"I  am  lonely, 
Lonely,  lonely." 


Fairest  of  Circassia's  daughters 

There  reclined  upon  the  ground, 
Heedless  of  the  gushing  waters. 
Careless  of  the  throng  around; 
Singing  only, 
"  I  am  lonely, 
Lonely,  lonely." 


Far  away  from  sister,  brother, 
liy  a  robl)er'8  hand  removed  ; 
Far  away  from  father,  mother, 
Far  away  from  him  she  loved  ; 
Singing  only, 
•'  I  am  lonely, 
Lonely,  lonely." 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  119 

Where  the  palm  leaves  sighed  above  her, 

Where  the  waters  gayly  play, 
There  she  sorrowed  for  her  lover — 
Selim,  who  was  far  away  ; 
Singing  only, 
<<I  am  lonely, 
Lonely,  lonely." 


WHAT  BESSY  HAS. 


Bessy's  eyes  are  brightly  beaming, 

Lightly  beaming ; 
Love's  soft  light  is  in  them  gleaming, 

Sweetly  gleaming : 
Bright  black  eyes  and  raven  tresses. 
Which  the  summer  wind  caresses. 
Waving  tresses— these  are  Bessy's. 


Roses  on  her  cheek  are  glowing. 

Blushing,  glowing; 
Lilies  on  her  breast  are  blowing, 

Whitely  blowing : 
Joyous  mirth,  which  naught  represses, 
Mirth  which  all  the  household  blesses, 
Kindly  blesses— these  arc  Bessy's. 


120  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

Laughter,  light  as  music  ringing, 

Clearly  ringing ; 
Voice  as  sweet  as  song-birds  singing, 

Softly  singing  ; 
Kindest  words  and  soft  caresses, 
Love,  which  every  heart  confesses, 
Mine  confesses — these  arc  Bessy's. 


THE  LUCKY  ESCAPE. 

Had  I  tarried, 

I  'd  been  married. 
But  that  hour  I'm  always  blessing, 

('Tis  no  lie,  sir,) 

When  Eliza 
I  saw  ut  the  window  dressing. 

At  the  window. 

Naught  to  hiiulcr 
Me  from  seeing  all  her  actions ; 

For  'tis  certain 

By  no  curlain 
Did  she  hide  her  hue  transactions. 

All  her  lovelocks. 

From  a  bandliox, 
Soon  are  o'er  her  bald  head  roaming ; 

For  my  'most  spouse. 

Pencilled  eyebrows 
From  the  bureau  (^uick  are  coming. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  121 

Gracious  Heaven ! 

Is  she  shavin'  ? 
Turning  now,  her  face  discloses, 

Redly  glo-wing, 

Each  check  showing 
She's  been  only  painting  roses. 

Now,  by  thunder ! 

Lilies  under 
Roses  o'er  her  neck  are  whitening, 

While  from  pocket 

To  their  socket. 
In  the  teeth  go,  quick  as  lightning. 

■  Like  an  arrow 

At  a  sparrow 
OflF  I  shot  me  to  the  hat-place, 

Got  ray  beaver. 

And  did  leave  her ; 
Never  courted  more  at  that  place. 


A  BALLAD  OF  YE  VALLIANTE  KNIGHTE  AND 
YE  LADYE  FAIRE. 

'T  WAS  summer  brighte, 

Ae  valliant  knightc 
Bestrode  his  galliant  steede, 

With  beaver  hatte, 

And  silk  cravat. 
And  in  his  mouth  a  weede. 


122  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES 

Ac  Indyc  fairo, 

"With  yellow  haire, 
Did  call  ye  vallijint  knighte; 

"When  from  yc  sfcdc, 

With  grace  and  spedc, 
He  quicklie  did  alyte. 


Yc  ladye  came ; 

Shec  called  his  name  ; 
Yc  knight  e,  hce  stoode  quite  still, 

While  shee  a  scroll 

Did  there  unroll ; 
It  was  his  washing  bill. 


It  was  just  then 
Yc  bell  tolled  tcnnc, 

And  rage  his  breast  c  did  swellc ; 
Ilec  scratched  his  hcaddo, 
And  then  bee  said 

That  slice  miglit  goc  to— Halifax. 


Tlien  loudo  shco  swore 
That  never  more 

Shee'd  wash  a  single  sliirte, 
And  left  ye  knighto 
In  sorry  jillghtc, 

In  raggedness  and  dirte. 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  123 

TEACHING  THE  YOUNG  IDEA. 

Teaching  Latin,  long  ago, 

Incautiously  I  said  "ylmo;" 

The  maiden  quickly  looked  at  me, 

And  asked  me  '' Quern)"     I  answered,  ''Te." 

Then  to  her  father  hastened  she, 
And  said  ^^Prxceptor  amat  wie;" 
He  growled,  and  gave  his  wig  a  shove, 
And  said,  "Amato" — (Let  him  love.) 

Then  to  mamma  away  she  went, 
Who  said  she  didn't  care  a  cent. 
So  thus  it  happened,  she  and  I 
In  marriage  simus  conjimcti. 


LINES  FOR  MISS  B 'S  ALBUM. 

In  the  garden,  where  the  flowers 

Fill  the  air  with  odors  sweet. 
Where  the  fairies  in  their  bowers 

Oft  in  nightly  revels  meet ; 
Where  the  sunbeams  kiss  the  roses. 

Where  the  song-birds  sing  to  me, 
Where  the  maidens  gather  posies, 

0  "tis  there  I  think  of  thee ! 


124  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

In  the  evening,  ■when  the  twilight 

Spreads  jxrouniJ  its  mantle  gi'fiy, 
Where  the  waters  in  the  starlight 

Sing  a  sad  dirge  o'er  tlie  day  ; 
"When  the  stars  adored  by  Magi 

Of  the  eastern  lands  I  see, 
"When  all  things  are  beauteous,  "  Ilajic,"* 

0  'tis  then  I  think  of  thee! 


AFFECTION'S  FLOWERS. 

Not  in  gardens  of  the  lofty, 
Not  in  rich  parterres  and  ga}^ 

Not  where  polished  marble  fountains 
Throw  around  prismatic  spray, 

And  exotics  fragrance  fling. 

Do  affection's  flowers  spring. 

But  by  dwellings  of  tlie  lowly, 

Where  the  woodbine  climbs  the  porch, 

Where  the  glow-worm,  at  her  try  sting, 
Liglits  her  i)hospliorescent  torch  ; 

There,  where  song-birds  sweetly  sing, 

Do  affection's  flowers  spring. 

•  Her  pot  name. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  125 

Where  the  streamlet  sings  an  anthem, 

Where  the  ins,ects  gayly  play, 
Where  the  evening  brings  devotion, 

Where  God's  people  nightly  pray; 
There,  where  hearts  together  cling, 
Do  affection's  flowers  spring. 


WERE  I  A  BIRD. 

Were  I  a  bird — 

I'd  hasten  to  Scotia,  the  land  of  the  brave. 

Where  the  soil  is  upheaved  by  the  patriot's  grave. 

And  tread  the  green  pathways  my  mother's  feet  trod, 

To  see  where  her  fathers  sleep,  under  the  sod. 

I'd  go  to  the  mountains  where  Vich-Ian-Vohr 

Once  marshalled  his  clansmen,  so  valiant  in  war ; 

And  echoing  still  the  dark  caverns  among, 

I'd  hear  the  wild  pibroch  of  Donnuil  Dhu  rung. 

I'd  hasten  away  on  the  wings  of  the  morn. 
To  dwell  in  the  land  where  a  Wallace  was  born ; 
Where  his  disenthralled  spirit  at  evening  returns 
To  hover  o'er  Scotland  with  Bruce  and  with  Burns; 
And  there  on  Ben  Nevis,  where  wild  eagles  scream. 
By  Solway's  clear  waters,  or  Afton's  still  stream, 
On  Cheviot's  blue  hills,  or  by  Loch  Katrine's  waves, 
I  'd  chant  a  wild  coronach  over  their  graves. 


12G  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

I  'd  po  by  the  banks  of  Uie  Nith  and  the  Doon, 

And  braes  of  Balquither,  where  summer  comes  soon ; 

By  AUoway's  Kirk  and  the  Auld  Brigs  of  Ayr, 

And   Craigie-burn,  where   the   spring  flowers   bloom 

fair ; 
I  would  hasten  along  by  the  fountain  and  flood, 
O'er   heather-  strewn   hillside,   through   meadow   and 

wood ; 
I'd  climb  the  rock  crag  to  the  wild  eagle's  eyrie, 
And  sing  there  a  song  full  of  love  to  my  dearie. 

"Were  I  a  bird — 

I'd  cross  the  white  Alps,  fair  Italia,  to  thee, 

And  light  in  famed  Venice,  the  gem  of  the  sea, 

"WJiere  San  iNIarzialc's  bells  their  angclus  ring, 

And  sweetest  of  love-songs  the  gondoliers  sing. 

I'd  fly  to  Genoa,  swift  borne  on  the  breeze 

Which  kisses  the  checks  of  the  dark  Genoese, 

And  under  the  olive  trees  arching  above, 

I'd  drink  from  black  eyes  draughts  of  passionate  love. 

I'd  hasten  to  Rome,  once  the  queen  of  the  world, 
(Now,    alas  I    from    her    brow    the    bright    diadem's 

hurled;) 
I'd  mount  the  old  Forum,  and  Esqniline  hill, 
And  empress  of  nations  I'd  fancy  her  still. 
I'd  see  where  the  Tai-quius  once  dwelt  in  their  pride, 
And  stand  where  Lucretia  for  chastity  died  ; 
I'd  seek  f(»r  each  temple,  each  slirino,  and  each  fane 
Once  drenched  with  the  rich  blood  of  hecatombs  slain. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  127 

I'd  gaze  till  my  soul  overflowed  with  delight 

At  the  fairy-like  visions,  so  beauteous  and  bright, 

Which  in  childhood  illumined  the  depths  of  my  heart, 

All  realized  now  by  the  Masters  of  Art. 

While  memory  dreams  of  my  boyhood  would  bring  ; 

Where  Horace  and  Virgil  once  sung,  I  would  sing; 

Where  Raphael  and  Augelo  roamed,  I  would  rove ; 

Where  Petrarch  and  Dante  once  loved,  I  would  love. 

Were  I  a  bird — 

I  'd  cross  o'er  the  ocean  to  blest  Palestine, 

Where  the  Godhead  incarnate  bj*  mortals  was  seen ; 

In  the  long  -  sought-for  Canaan,  the   blest   promised 

land 
Where   Salem's   proud   temple    was   raised,  I    would 

stand ; 
Where  the  Cherubim  hovered,  illumed  by  the  rays 
Which  beamed  from  the  face  of  the  Ancient  of  Days  ; 
I  'd  follow  the  paths  that  Emanuel  trod, 
And  dwell  there  in  Bctlilehem,  birthplace  of  God. 

I'd  wander  along  by  the  deep  Galilee, 
When  golden-bright  starlight  is  gemming  the  sea ; 
And  where  the  blue  waters  of  Jordan's  stream  roll, 
A  sweet  song  would  vibrate  the  chords  of  my  soul ; 
For  its  waters,  smooth  flowing,  all  calmly  along. 
Seem  murmuring  softly  a  heavenly  song — 
The  anthems  that  Seraphim  loudly  sung  when 
They  told  the  glad  tidings,  "Salvation  to  men." 

I'd  stand  upon  Lebanon's  summit  of  snow. 

On  Moriah's  proud  height,  and  on  Olivet's  brow ; 


128  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

By  Kcdron  I'd  wander  to  Getliscmnnp, 

AVhcrc  Christ  groaned  aloud  in  his  strong  agony; 

On  Calvary  hear  still  his  last  dying  cry, 

"  Eloi  :   Eloi !   Lama  Sabacthani ;" 

And  then  at  the  Sepulchre  s-tand  by  his  tomb 

Whose  glory  for  ever  illumines  ita  gloom. 

But  were  I  a  bird — 

I'd  hie  me  away  to  some  far  foreign  laud, 

Some  isle  of  the  blest,  and  there  light  on  the  strand 

Where   the  shore -kissing  wave   purely  white -crested 

curls 
Over  ocean-bed  spangled  with  jewels  and  pearls; 
Where  light-winged  zephyrs  disport  in  the  trees, 
And  flower-cups  welcome  the  health-giving  breeze; 
Where  the  Paradise  birds  play  beneath  the  blue  skies, 
And  the  Phoenix  immortal  in  glory  arise. 

I'd  fly  to  a  land  beyond  weak  mortal's  ken, 

More  distant  and  high  than  the  ghost-lands  of  men; 

Than  Northman's  Valhalla,  where  Odin  and  Thor 

Received  to  their  banquets  the  heroes  of  war; 

Than  blessed  Elysium  of  Roman  or  Greek; 

Than  Indian's  blest  Hunting-ground  farther  I'd  seek, 

And  on  my  bold  pinions  far  higher  I'd  rise 

Than  Mussulmau's  houri-filled,  bright  Paradise. 

In  that  land  where  the  breezes  blow  rich  with  per- 
fume. 
Where  the  amaranth  flowers  unfadiugly  bloom, 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  129 

Where  the  lilies  and  myrtles  do  rustic  their  bells, 
And  roses  entwine  with  the  blest  asphodels, 
I'd  gather  the  lotus,  forgetful  of  home, 
And  by  the  bright  Lethean  waters  I'd  roam  ; 
From  their  waves  a  full  cup  of  oblivion  I'd  drain, 
And  borrow  Nepenthe  for  sorrow  and  pain. 


ON  THE  ISLAND. 

'T  IS  a  summer's  eve  by  the  ocean  side. 

And  the  queen  of  night,  from  the  silvered  tide. 

Comes  mounting  up  on  high  ; 
And  the  stars  shine  forth,  each  one  like  a  gem 
Which  has  dropped  from  an  angel's  diadem. 

And  stud  the  azure  sky. 

'Tis  a  gala  night ;  there  are  maidens  fair. 

And  the  diamonds  gleam  from  their  perfumed  hair 

Grandly  and  gloriously ; 
But  I  stand  alone  in  the  merry  throng. 
And  the  happy  ones,  as  they  glide  along. 

Scarce  deign  to  look  on  me. 

But  I  walk  on  the  shore  of  the  sounding  sea ; 
There's  a  voice  speaks  there,  and  it  calls  to  me : 

That  voice  they  cannot  hear: 
Like  the  muffled  tones  of  a  midnight  bell, 
It  is  borne,  with  its  mystic,  mournful  swell, 

On  viewless  -waves  of  air. 


130  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

'Tis  a  solemn  voice,  and  it  speaks  alone, 
"With  its  soughing  sigh  and  its  mournful  moan, 

To  aching  hearts  like  mine : 
But  the  happy  ones,  and  the  blest  of  earth — 
Tiiey  whose  lives  fly  by  in  the  halls  of  mirth — 

Its  meaning  ne'er  divine. 

So  I  leave  them  there,  in  their  crowded  hall, 
With  their  gay  quadrille  and  waltz,  and  all 

Their  gems  and  jewels  rare  ; 
And  I  go  on  the  shore  where  the  white  surf  rr^ves ; 
There 's  a  music  comes  from  the  ocean  waves 

Grander  than  theirs  in  there. 


now  BEAUTEOUS  IS  MOONLIGHT ! 

How  beauteous  is  moonlight !     How  silvery  the  gleam 
Which  rests  upon  lilies  that  float  on  the  stream; 
"Whose  chalices  glisten  all  brightly  afar. 
As  though  every  petal  reflected  a  star. 
How  brilliant  it  shines  on  the  tops  of  the  trees, 
So  gracefully  bending  to  welcome  the  breeze ! 
While  round  the  old  mountain  it  lights  up  the  rills. 
And  crowns  him,  with  silver,  the  Monarch  of  Hills. 

How  sweet  is  the  moonlight!  Where  jessamines 
bloom, 

Whence  the  wings  of  the  zephyrs  bear  richest  per- 
fume; 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  131 

Where   glisten    the    dcwdrops,    like    diamonds    down 

thrown 
By  some  love-wearied  faii'y  unbinding  her  zone  ; 
How  sweet  for  young  lovers  to  wander  alone, 
With  silence  unbroken,  save  by  the  soft  tone 
Of  the  coy,  blushing  maiden,  confessing  her  love, 
Like  the  low-cooing  notes  of  the  lone  turtle-dove ! 

How  bright  is  the  moonlight !     It  chases  the  gloom 
Which  night  overcasts  like  the  pall  on  a  tomb ; 
And  trembling  along  on  the  wavelets  of  air, 
It  sheds  a  bright  blessing  o'er  earth  everywhere ; 
It  breaks  through  the  darkness  which  covers  the  sky 
When  ocean  is  roaring  and  tempests  are  high. 
And  shines  on  the  waves  whitely  crested  with  foam, 
Bringing  hope  to  the  wanderer,  and  promise  of  home. 

How  holy  is  moonlight !     How  quiet  and  calm ! 
It  comes  to  the  mourner,  a  God-given  balm ; 
It  brings  to  the  wearied  ones  resting  and  peace, 
And  bids  the  wild  tears  of  bereavement  to  cease. 
How  holy,  when  tumults  and  troubles  of  day 
With  the  sun's  dying  light  have  been  driven  away, 
To  feel  its  blest  light  in  full  affluence  given 
O'er  the  soul,  like  a  Paraclete  coming  from  heaven. 


132  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

"MA     CANNE." 

TRANSLATED  FKOM  THE  "  DERXIERS  CnAN'SONS"  OF  BERANGER. 

[First  stanza  omitted.] 
II. 

Far  from  life's  cares  let  iis  rest  in  the  shadow, 
Far  from  life's  ocean-surf  fitfully  tossed ; 

I'll  sing  to  thee  dreamily,  down  in  the  meadow, 
A  song  of  sweet  memories — sighs  for  the  lost ; 

As  oft  I  have  sung  when  fast-falling  showers. 

That  came  with  the  thunderous  voice  of  the  blast, 

Swept  in  their  chilliness,  killing  the  flowers ; 
Or  when  the  snow-storm  went  hurrying  past, 

Then  sadly  or  gayly  I  dreamingly  wandered, 

While  under  my  old  hat  my  sweet  thoughts  I  pon- 
dered. 
Come,  cross  the  wood  near  the  fields  by  the  river, 
Gather  we  flowers  and  songs  there  for  ever ! 

III. 

Often,  thou  knowcst  how,  pleasingly  dreaming, 

Brightest  of  air-castles,  musing,  I'd  build; 
And  in  that  dreaming  each  castle  was  seeming 

With  treasures  and  pleasures  overflowingly  filled. 
An  infant  of  Paris — of  Paris  the  shameless, 

/  might  have  wandered  its  purlieus  among, 
Even  uncared-for,  and  homeless  and  nameless, 

Had  not  the  muse  set  her  mark  on  my  tongue. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  133 

Mother  benignant !     She  gave  me  a  name, 
And  blessed  me  with  home,  and  crowned  me  with  fame ! 
Come,  cross  the  wood  near  the  fields  by  the  river, 
Gather  we  flowers  and  songs  there  for  ever ! 


IV. 


She  was  my  nurse,  and  she  tanght  me  to  ponder 
On  nature  and  men ;  and  kindly  she  'd  say|: 

''Come  from  the  city,  child,  with  me  to  wander; 
Come,  gather  roses  which  grow  by  the  way." 

Since  then,  though  far  from  the  thirst  which  devours, 
For  riches  and  courts,  she  cares  for  me  yet ; 

Though    feebled    with    age,    she    brings    songs    and 
flowers, 
To  bind  in  a  wreath  for  the  brow  of  her  pet ; 

The  ma7i  liears  her  songs  with  gladness  and  joy, 

He  hears  the  sweet  lullaby  sung  to  the  boy. 
Come,  cross  the  wood  near  the  fields  by  the  river. 
Gather  wc  flowers  and  songs  there  for  ever ! 


V. 


*'  Come,  guide  the  Republic !"  fools  would  advise  me ; 

Sages  of  yesterday  foolishly  prate ; 
0,  my  companion !  would  it  not  surprise  thee, 

Having  to  aid  me  in  carrying  the  State  ? 
I  must  be  stronger  than  Atlas,  and  bolder  ;  ^ 

0,  my  good  cane !  it  would  make  thee  to  groan. 
Had  I  the  weiglit  of  the  world  on  my  shoulder, 

And  thou  hadst  to  bear  it  all,  joined  to  my  own. 


134  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

A  grief  to  my  friends,  to  all  Tvise  men  a  joke, 

To  see  me  beneath  the  political  yoke. 

Come,  cross  the  "wood  near  the  fields  by  the  river, 
Gather  we  flowers  and  songs  there  for  ever ! 

VI. 

In  sunshiny  days,  and  in  dreariest  weather, 
Dearest  companion  !  thou  ever  Avast  nigh  ; 

Faithfully  have  we  grown  aged  together, 
And  with  the  dead  past  together  we'll  die. 

To  this  new  era,  my  cane !  I  have  bound  thee, 
Thou  who  hast  guided  my  footsteps  aright ; 

Be  thou  support  to  the  vanquished  around  thee, 
Wildly  who  wander  in  sorrow's  sad  night. 

Companion,  farewell!  I  enter  the  gloom, 

I  leave  thee,  old  friend,  on  the  brink  of  my  tomb  ! 
Come,  cross  the  wood  near  the  fields  by  the  river. 
Gather  we  flowers  and  songs  there  for  ever ! 


GO  FOR  THE  RIGHT,  WHATEVER  BETIDE. 

Though  beauty  entice  you 

With  laughter  and  smiles. 
And  strive  to  ensnare  you 

With  charms  and  with  wiles, 
0  pass  them  by  lightly, 

Their  powers  deride. 
And  go  for  tlie  right. 

Whatever  betido. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  135 

Though  wealth  may  allure  you 

With  diamonds  and  gold, 
The  strength  of  your  manhood 

Must  never  he  sold ; 
Bid  riches  "  avaunt  ye !" 

With  power  and  pride, 
And  go  for  the  right,  j 

Whatever  betide. 

Though  power  oppose  you 

With  strength  and  with  might,  ] 
0,  ne'er  be  disheartened. 

Though  hard  be  the  fight ; 
0  never  be  conquered, 

Nor  e'er  turned  aside, 
But  go  for  the  right. 

Whatever  betide. 

In  archives  of  glory 

Your  name  be  enrolled, 
In  songs  and  in  story 

Your  brave  deeds  be  told, 
Along  with  the  heroes 

Who  fought  and  who  died, 
Who  went  for  the  right, 

Whate'er  might  betide. 


136  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES 


BABY  IS  AT   REST. 

Died,  October  28, 1859,  at  Spartanburg,  Mary  Jane,  only  child 
of  Professor  James  H.  and  Mrs.  Margaret  Jane  Carlisle,  aged 
two  years  and  four  months. 


Cease  the  sound  of  wailing ; 

Still  the  throbbing  breast : 
List !  the  angels  -whisper, 

"Baby  is  at  rest." 

II. 


Bend,  ye  gentle  flowers, 
Shedding  rich  perfume ; 

Breathe  your  sweetest  incense, 
Hallowing  her  tomb. 


III. 


Sing,  ye  winds  of  evening. 
Softly,  sweetly  low ; 

Lull  her  dreamless  sleeping. 
Sighing  as  ye  go. 


IV. 


Beam,  ye  stars  of  night-time, 
Calmly,  purely  bright ; 

Lure  her  soul  to  heaven 
With  your  radiant  light. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  137 


Come,  ye  blessed  angels, 
As  through  space  ye  roam, 

Waft  her  on  your  pinions, 
Bear  her  safely  home ! 

VI. 

Ring,  ye  bells  of  heaven, 
Let  the  anthem  roll 

Through  the  courts  of  glory- 
God  has  gained  a  soul. 


THE  BABY  SLEEPS. 

Died,  in  Charleston,  25th  June,  1S60,  Annie  Laura  Amelia, 
only  child  of  John  and  Amelia  J.  Kenifick. 

Poor  baby  !  thou  art  lying 

In  the  cold  and  silent  ground, 
While  the  summer  winds  are  sighing 

Saddest  requiems  all  around ; 
There  is  no  one  now  to  cheer  thee, 

Though  the  tempests  wildly  rave ; 
None  are  with  thee,  none  are  near  thee, 

Save  the  monarch  of  the  grave. 
6 


138  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

0  baby  !  were  I  resting 

In  the  silence  of  the  tomb, 
Or  where  the  white  foam  cresting 

Shows  the  sea-graves  through  the  gloom  ; 
0,  it  could  not  be  so  gloomy 

As  this  world  seems  now  to  me, 
Where  wild  phantoms  still  pursue  me. 

Haunting  ghosts  of  memory. 

Dear  baby,  thou  art  sleeping 

Where  the  flowers,  as  they  wave, 
Drop  the  dew,  like  mourners  weeping 

While  they  bend  above  thy  grave ; 
And  birds  come  sweetly  singing, 

While  the  stars  their  vigils  keep, 
And  the  lily-bells  are  ringing, 

Sweetly  lulling  thee  to  sleep. 

Sweet  baby,  there  is  mourning 

By  the  whilom  blithesome  hearth. 
For  the  lost  one  ne'er  returning, 

For  thy  smiles  and  joyous  mirth  ; 
Yes,  they  miss  thee,  darling,  nightly, 

AVhen  the  shades  of  evening  fall ; 
No  footsteps  now  are  lightly 

Tripping  through  the  sounding  hall. 

And,  baby,  though  with  wailing 
And  with  woe  we  laid  thee  down, 

When  the  blessed  sun  seemed  paling, 
And  the  heaven  wore  a  frown, 


LYRICS  "and   sketches.         139 

Yet,  dearest,  grief  and  sadness 

Must  be  for  us  alone ; 
To  thee  is  joy  and  gladness, 

Hard  by  the  Master's  throne. 

Blest  baby!  thou  art  singing 

Where  angels  chant  their  lays, 
And  golden  bells  are  ringing 

And  chiming  notes  of  praise  ; 
And  though  we  are  benighted 

By  mourning's  darkest  gloom. 
We  know  the  bud's  not  blighted, 

But  in  heaven's  courts  shall  bloom. 


REQUIEM. 

SUGGESTED  BT   SEEING   THE   GRAVE   OF   A   STRANGER    IN    ELMWOOD 
CEMETERY. 

Seeep  on,  sleep  on, 

Where  the  stars  watch  your  sleeping, 
Sleep  on,  sleep  on. 
Where  the  dewdrops  are  weeping 
Tears  o'er  the  early  dead, 
Tears  for  the  spirit  fled. 

Sleep  on,  sleep  on, 

Where  the  green  grass  is  growing ; 
Sleep  on,  sleep  on. 

Where  the  river  is  flowing ; 


140  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

Where  its  waves,  as  Ihey  roll, 
Chant  a  prayer  for  thy  soul. 

Sleep  on,  sleep  on, 

Where  thou 'It  late  be  to  waken  ; 
Sleep  on,  sleep  on, 

All  alone  and  forsaken  ; 

But  thy  God  heard  thy  prayer, 
When  no  loved  one  was  there. 

Sleep  on,  sleep  on, 

There  is  grief  for  the  living  ; 
Sleep  on,  sleep  on. 

Where  the  lone  grave  is  giving 
Peace  to  the  troubled  breast, 
And  to  the  weary  rest. 


DEATH  THE  FOE,  AND  DEATEI  THE  FRIEND. 

Death,  avaunt,  with  all  thy  horrors, 
Gloom,  and  darkness  of  the  grave ; 

0,  avaunt !  ye  damned  spirits. 
Why  so  madly  howl  and  rave  ? 

Conqueror  in  a  million  battles, 

0,  thou  shalt  not  conquer  me  ! 
Yet  I  feel  thy  mighty  power ; 

Death,  I  yield — I  yield  to  thee. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  141 

Of  the  land  of  night  and  terrors 

Thou  dost  open  wide  the  door, ' 
Where,  with  devils,  fiends,  and  demons, 

I  shall  burn  for  evermore. 


Welcome,  Death,  thou  friend  in  sorrow; 

Welcome,  quiet  of  the  grave ; 
There's  no  gloom  and  darkness  brooding 

O'er  the  hast'ning  stygian  wave. 

Countless  thousands  are  thy  victims, 
Yet  thou  canst  not  conquer  me ; 

Jesus'  death  to  me  has  given 
O'er  the  grave  a  victory. 

Thou  dost  only  ope  the  portal 

Of  a  brighter,  better  land, 
Where,  with  angels  and  archangels, 

I  shall  live  at  God's  right  hand. 


'TWAS  AT  THE  EVENTIDE. 

ON   THE   DEATH   OF   THE   AUTHOR'S   BROTHER. 

'TwAs  at  the  eventide, 

When  angels  took  his  soul, 
The  silver  cord  untied. 

And  broke  the  golden  bowl, 
And  bore  him  home.     Our  hearts  were  riven, 
But  there  were  joyful  songs  in  heaven. 


142  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

'Twas  at  the  eventide 

We  heard  the  death-bell  toll, 
But  heaven  opened  wide, 

And  God  received  his  soul ; 
Angels  rejoiced  to  greet  another: 
They  hailed  our  early-called  one,  "Brother." 

'Twas  at  the  eventide, 

When  the  stars  lit  the  sky, 
And  then  in  grief  I  cried, 

*'How  sweet  'twould  be  to  die, 
To  leave  the  world  and  seek  for  rest 
For  the  sad  heart  and  troubled  breast!" 


THE  EARLY  DEAD. 

0  SING  a  song,  so  sweet,  so  sad, 
Not  joyous,  blithe,  or  gay  ; 

A  solemn  dirge  be  sung  for  those 
Who  early  pass  away. 

Before  the  roseate  tints  of  health 

Begin  their  swift  decay. 
They  go  to  fairer  realms  above 

Who  early  pass  away. 

They  go  to  heavenly  kingdoms  bright, 

To  everlasting  day ; 
They  leave  this  earth  to  live  with  God, 

Who  early  pass  away. 


■     LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  143 

They  sing  a  song  divinely  sweet, 

They  hymn  a  heavenly  lay, 
They  tune  their  sweet-toned  golden  harps. 

Who  early  pass  away. 

They  live  a  life  of  endless  joy, 

(The  Holy  Scriptures  say,) 
And  sec  Jehovah's  glorious  face. 

Who  early  pass  away. 


MOTHER  AND  CHILD. 

What  is  that  shining  in  the  sky, 
Thatgleameth  brightly  far  on  high, 
That  nightly  glimmers  from  afar  ? 
It  is,  my  child,  a  glittering  star. 

What  is  that  rising  from  the  sea, 
And  shining  hrightly  o'er  the  lea  ? 
It  is,  my  child,  the  full-orbed  moon, 
From  gracious  God  a  welcome  boon. 

The  clouds  ofttimes  with  fires  are  lit, 
Which  'cross  the  vaulted  heavens  flit ; 
That  light  mine  eyes  refuse  to  bear. 
That  is,  my  child,  the  lightning's  glare. 

Next,  dreadful  noises  oft  I  hear, 
Rolling  and  crashing  through  the  air. 


144  LYRICS     AND    SKETCHES. 

This  is,  my  love,  the  thundei''s  roar, 
Telling  that  all  the  danger's  o'er. 

Mother,  who  made  these  wondrous  things- 
These  stars,  that  darkness  with  it  brings ; 
The  lightning's  glare,  the  thunder's  roar ; 
The  moon,  that  high  aloft  doth  soar  ? 

'T  is  God,  my  child,  who  made  them  all, 
"Who  made  this  world  round,  like  a  ball ; 
He  dwells  in  light,  far  up  on  high. 
Beyond  the  reach  of  mortal  eye. 


THE  DEAD  OF  THE  CENTRAL  AMERICA. 

Tell  me,  ocean  waves, 

As  ye  roll  on, 
Mourn  ye  o'er  the  graves. 
As  ye  roll  on, 
Where  now  the  dead  are  sleeping, 

Late  to  waken, 
While  widowed  ones  arc  weeping, 
All  forsaken? 

Tell  me,  stars  of  night, 

As  ye  shine  forth, 
Pale  ye  your  pure  light, 

As  ye  shine  forth  ? 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  145 

Are  ye  youi'  vigils  keeping, 

While  tempests  moan, 
Where  the  loved  ones  arc  sleeping, 

Alone !   alone ! 

0,  •winds,  as  ye  blow, 

Hurrying  on. 
Bear  ye  sounds  of  woe, 
Hurrying  on  ? 
Heard  ye  their  prayers  ascending 

From  the  ocean. 
While  sea  and  sky  were  blending 
In  commotion  ? 

Yes ;  the  ocean  waves, 

As  they  roll  on, 
Mourn  in  their  deep  caves, 
As  they  roll  on ; 
Never  an  earthly  meeting 

To  those  death  parts  ; 
Ne'er  more  a  joyous  greeting 
To  loving  hearts. 

And  the  stars  grow  pale. 

As  they  shine  forth, 
When  the  tempests  wail. 
As  they  shine  forth  ? 
And  the  stars  watch  their  resting, 

When  the  white  foam, 
On  the  curling  wave  cresting, 
Covers  their  home. 


146  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.    ' 

And  the  roaring  blast, 

Hurrying  on, 
Shrieks  o'er  the  wide  waste, 
Hurrying  on, 
Where  there  were  stout  hearts  quailing 

In  agony ; 
And  thence  it  bore  their  wailing 
Up  to  the  sky. 


DEATH,  THE   KING. 

SUGGESTED   BY  "STORM,  THE    KING." 

I  AM  Death,  the  King ! 

And  my  minions  are 
Fever  and  famine 

And  cruel  war ; 
And  my  stern  commands 

They  haste  to  perform 
With  willing  hands ; 

For  I'm  Death,  the  King! 

I  am  Death,  the  King ! 

No  tribute  I  pay; 
Monarch s  and  chieftains, 

They  own  my  sway  ; 
And  before  my  might 

Footmen  and  horsemen 
Cower  in  friglit  ; 

For  I'm  Death,  the  King! 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  147 

I  am  Death,  the  King ! 

Amid  crumbling  stones 
I  have  fixed  my  court, 

And  mouldering  bones. 
Where  the  battening  worms 

Make  a  royal  feast 
On  noble  forms  ; 

For  I'm  Death,  the  King! 

I  am  Death,  the  King  ! 

No  sorrow  have  I 
For  the  tears  I  bi'ing 

To  the  mourner's  eye ; 
From  the  mother's  arms 

I  will  snatch  her  child, 
And  blast  its  charms  ; 

For  I'm  Death,  the  King! 

I  am  Death,  the  King ! 

My  brother  is  Sleep, 
Who  comes  as  a  friend 

To  those  who  weep ; 
And  he  dries  the  tears 

Which  I  cause  to  flow, 
And  soothes  all  cares ; 

/am  Death,  the  King ! 

I  am  Death,  the  King ! 

With  my  red  right  hand 
I  ope  the  door 

To  a  better  land, 


148  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES 

Where  my  powers  fail ; 

For  before  God's  light 
Proud  Death  must  quail ; 

Even  Death,  the  King ! 


LA  BELLE  CREOLE. 

0,  Belle  Creole, 

Your  hoops  you  roll 
So  nonchalantly  down  the  street ! 

As  if  you  thought 

You  honor  brought 
By  stepping  with  your  dainty  feet 

Upon  God's  earth, 

"Where  we  all  have  birth. 

Elisc,  ma  belle, 

Altliough  you  swell 
So  grandly  past  in  crinoline, 

Sometimes  you  stare, 

And  wildly  glare, 
As  if  a  spectre  you  had  seen — 

Some  damnJid  ghoul. 

Or  wandering  soul. 

0,  <*Reine  d' Amour!" 
In  days  of  yore 
How  fondly  Alphonse  you  caressed ; 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  149 

His  love  betrayed  ! 
Ah  !   now  he 's  haid 
(A  pistol  bullet  in  his  breast) 
By  the  bayou, 
For  the  love  of  you. 

0,  Belle  Creole ! 

Though  you  unroll 
A  list  of  rents  as  long  's  my  arm ; 

Though  you  have  gold 

And  wealth  untold, 
Alas  !  your  riches  have  no  charm 

To  blind  the  glare 

Of  that  horrid  stare. 

Ah !  Belle  Creole ! 

There  is  a  goal 
Where  stands  the  Judge  of  life's  long  race, 

And  diamonds'  blaze 

Can't  dim  his  gaze : 
0,  how  will  you  meet  the  pallid  face 

And  stony  stare 

Of  the  dead  man  there  ? 


TO  MISS  MARY  S ,  OF  GEORGIA. 

Tiiou  cam'st  like  a  sunbeam, 

A  spirit  of  light, 
Across  my  life's  pathway, 

All  gleaming  and  bright ; 


150  LYRICS     AND    SKETCHES, 

And  shone  for  a  moment, 
And  gladdened  my  way, 

And  turned  all  my  darkness 
To  glorious  day. 

In  life's  dreary  desert, 

Thy  memory  shall  be 
A  garden  of  llowcrs 

All  beauteous  to  me. 

Like  a  meteor  of  glory 
In  heaven's  blue  dome, 

Thy  presence  shone  brightly, 
Then  vanished  in  gloom. 

Thou  hast  gone,  and  the  places 
That  shone  with  thy  light 

Have  lost  all  their  brightness, 
Are  shadowed  with  night. 


LIKE  A  SUNBEAM. 

Like  a  sunbeam 

Coming,  going; 
Like  the  wave  tide 

Ebbing,  flowing: 
Such  is  life.     Like  grass  we  wither ; 

For  a  moment 
Living,  loving  ; 

In  a  moment 
Darkly  roving. 

Going— ah,  we  know  not  whither. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  151 

Now  we're  joyous, 

But  to-morrow 
Comes  and  brings  us 

Care  and  sorrow ; 
Hearts  must  break,  and  friends  must  sever ; 

On  life's  ocean 
Tossing,  surging, 

Sail  our  life-boats, 
Till  submerging 

Comes  a  wave— they're  lost  for  ever. 

Life's  a  journey- 
Sad  and  weary, 

To  a  valley 

Dark  and  dreary, 

Bounded  by  a  gloomy  river  ; 
Through  the  darkness 

Looking  over 
Lovely  visions. 

We  discover 

'Tis  the  bright  land  of  Forever. 

'Cross  the  waters 

Madly  swelling, 
For  the  homeless 

There's  a  dwelling; 
To  the  weary  rest  is  given  ; 

Sorrows  there  will 
Be  requited ; 

Severed  hearts  will 
Be  united 

In  that  blessed  home-land— heaven. 


152  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.     ' 

A  WAIL  FOR  THE  GIFTED. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  HOWARD  HAYNE  CALDWELL. 

And  art  thou  cold  and  lowly  laid  ? 
And  has  thy  funeral  prayer  been  said  ? 
And  has  the  requiem  sad  been  sung 
For  thee  who  diedst  so  loved,  so  young  ? 
And  shall  the  smiling  buds  of  spring 

No  longer  laugh  in  flowers  for  thee  ? 
And  shall  the  birds  still  sweetly  sing, 

But  not  for  thee  their  minstrelsy  ? 

Yes ;  flowers  shall  with  zephyrs  wave, 
But  only  blend  to  bless  thj'  grave  ; 
And  birds  shall  sing  from  greenwood  tree 
Only  to  chant  a  dirge  for  thee ; 
While  gently-falling  summer  rain 

Shall  shed  its  tears  of  sorrow  where 
Sad  music  murmurs  o'ev  the  plain, 

While  nature  mourns  her  worshipper. 

Friend  of  my  soul,  thy  heart  is  stilled, 
That  erst  with  ecstasy  was  thrilled  ; 
And  silent  now  the  courts  have  grown 
Where  fancy  held  her  radiant  throne ; 
And  eyes  where  fires  of  genius  gleamed. 

Ah  !  death  has  quenched  their  glorious  glow ; 
From  lips  whence  tuneful  measures  streamed. 

Sweet  harmonics  no  more  shall  flow. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  153 

I'd  lay  thy  loved  harp  by  thy  side, 
If  chance  some  lingering  strain  abide, 
That,  murmuring  with  angel-breath, 
Might  wake  the  dull,  cold  ear  of  dcatli ; 
Cut  by  the  ISIaster's  great  white  throne, 

Where  golden  bells  are  ringing  now, 
Where  love  perfected  dwells  alone. 

Beloved  friend,  sure  there  art  thou. 

Thou  didst  not  know— and  none  can  know— 
My  love  for  thee,  my  depth  of  woe, 
That  thine  allotted  task  is  done, 
While  mine  is  scarcely  yet  begun  ; 
And  still  in  dreams  thy  form  I  see. 

When  night  o'erspreads  her  jewelled  veil; 
And  still  thou  singest  unto  me 

In  some  wild,  weirdsome,  witching  wail. 


BATTLE    SONG.* 

Men  of  the  South,  awake  ye !  arise ! 
The  burning  cross  on  its  mission  flies ; 
On  Southern  soil  is  a  stain  of  blood, 
The  dark  portent  of  a  fearful  flood ; 
'T  is  the  deep  and  foul  and  damning  stain 
Of  our  brothers'  blood  by  foemen  slain : 
Then  arm,  arm,  arm  for  the  fight ! 
Let  Southern  might  win  Southern  right. 


*  This  and  the  following  piece  were  the  author's  last  poems. 


154  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

Men  of  the  South,  the  tempest  is  nigh, 

The  thunder-clouds  overhang  the  sky  ; 

A  warning  voice  from  the  wailing  blast 

Heralds  the  storm  as  it  gathers  fast ; 

With  your  decks  all  cleared,  and  furled  each  sail, 

Meet  ye  the  storm  and  weather  the  gale  ; 

And  arm,  arm,  arm  for  the  fight ! 

Ere  the  day  dawns  is  the  darkest  night. 

Then,  men  of  the  South,  awake !  arise  ! — 

By  your  flowery  lands  and  sunny  skies ; 

By  the  glorious  deeds  of  daring  done 

When  your  fathers'  swords  brave  victories  won ; 

By  earth  and  hell  and  the  heaven  above  ; 

By  life  and  death,  and  by  hate  and  love, 

0,  arm,  arm,  arm  for  the  fight ! 

By  Southern  might  win  Southern  right. 


CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 

With  joyous  hearts  and  gladsome  smiles 

We  hail  this  glorious  Christmas  morn  ; 
This  sacred  day,  when  angels  told 

To  men  the  blessed  Christ  was  born. 
And  in  the  East  a  star  arose, 

The  brightest  of  Night's  diadem. 
And  hovered  where  the  Christ-child  lay ; 

It  was  the  star  of  Bethlehem. 
That  star,  the  harbinger  of  peace. 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  155 

Was  greeted  by  angelic  breath, 
And  with  its  radiance  burst  the  gloom 

And  brooding  clouds  of  sin  and  death ; 
And  beamed  upon  earth's  darkest  shore 
A  sign  of  hope  for  evermore. 

This  day  comes  now  with  doubled  joy, 

For  on  the  land  and  o'er  the  sea 
Is  waving  with  undaunted  pride 

The  evergreen  Palmetto  tree  ! 
And  rising  brightly  in  the  skies, 

Above  the  tempest-driven  tide, 
There  beams  a  glorious  planet-star — 

The  star  of  Carolina's  pride. 
The  skies  display  no  grander  light, 

And  night  can  boast  no  brighter  gem. 
Than  that  blest  star,  whose  glory  yields 

Alone  to  that  of  Bethlehem. 
0  may  it  shine  from  shore  to  shore, 
With  golden  light  for  evermore ! 


156  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES 


INDIANS, 


"Lo!  the  poor  Ingine!"  remarked  the  Fifer  to 
Ruby,  one  day,  pointing  to  tlie  wreck  of  an  engine 
■which  had  collapsed  and  expanded  and  blown  up,  until 
what  once  was  the  beautiful  perfection  of  mechanism 
had  become  a  mass  of  ruins,  without  form,  and  void. 
They  had  just  been  discussing  the  question  whether 
Pope  meant  to  pun  when  he  said, 

"His  soul  proud  Science  never  trmght  to  stray 
Far  as  the  soul-ar  walk,  or  milky-way  ;" 

and  had  come  to  the  satisfactory  conclusion  that  the 
Indian  had  often  sought  the  milky-ioay  when  in  infancy, 
ere  yet  he  had  become  accustomed  to  grosser  nutri- 
ment. With  a  deep-drawn  sigh,  Ruby  remarked, 
^'■Ileigh!  the  poor  Indian,"  and,  cow-like,  commenced 
ruminating,  thinking  of  Indians,  their  past,  their  glo- 
rious past,  for  ever  past ;  their  ignoble  and  degraded 
present,  and  their  sorrowful,  lowering  future. 

When  in  pristine  days  the  Indian  roamed  in  uncon- 
trolled freedom  through  primeval  forests  whose  savage 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  157 

grandeur  filled  him  with  grand  ideas  of  the  Great 
Spirit  by  •whose  word  they  came  into  existence  ;  when 
in  the  sound  of  the  winds  rushing  down  the  valleys,  or 
sighing  through  the  trees,  or  howling  over  waters,  or 
clashing  and  shrieking  and  shouting  around  the  moun- 
tain-tops, he  heard  but  the  war-cries  and  battle-alarums 
of  the  spirits  of  dead  heroes  and  braves ;  when  the 
murmuring  of  waters  and  the  rustling  of  breezes  were 
to  him  as  the  voices  of  good  spirits  from  the  cloud- 
covered  lands  of  the  blessed  hereafter ;  when  the  flash- 
ing and  blazing  of  the  lightning,  as  its  electric  fires 
illumined  the  heavens,  or  the  rolling  and  crashing  of 
the  thunder,  as  it  reverberated  from  cliff  and  cavern, 
were  gleams  from  the  wrath-kindled  eyes  of  Manitou, 
or  sounds  of  his  voice  when  he  spoke  from  his  empy- 
real throne ;  when  the  warrior,  returning  from  the 
battle  or  the  chase,  came  home  chanting  the  songs  of 
victory,  and  was  met  at  the  lodge  door  by  the  "Lily 
of  the  Waters,"  or  the  "Wild  Fawn  of  the  Forest"— 
daughters  of  the  wildwood,  whose  hearts  were  as  warm 
as  the  sunshine  in  summer,  and  pure  as  the  wind-driven 
snow  of  the  winter,  and  whose  souls  were  as  kind  and 
true  as  is  the  turtle-dove  cooing  in  gentle,  loving  tones 
to  her  mate,  and  as  brave  as  the  swan  when  she  drives 
the  wild  eagle  from  the  nest  where  her  cygnets  are 
gathered ;  when  truth  and  honor  were  native  to  his 
soul,  and  before  the  white  man  had  taught  him  that  these 
were  of  less  value  than  gold,  and  could  be  bought  and 
sold  as  chattels  in  the  market-place ;  then,  when  he 
"  saw  God  in  clouds  or  heard  him  in  the  wind,"  and 
was  in  constant  communication  with  nature,  which  was 


158  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

his  religion,  his  God,  0  then  was  his  past,  his  glorious 
past! 

Driven  away  from  the  graves  of  his  fathers,  from  the 
home  of  his  boyhood  ;  tribes  scattered  and  nations  dis- 
persed ;  hunted  from  covert  to  covert,  and  driven  be- 
yond the  blue  mountains  of  the  West,  to  dwell  in  a 
strange  land ;  contaminated  by  all  the  vices  which  the 
Europeans  brought,  but  blessed  with  none  of  their 
virtues  ;  wasted  by  diseases  which  followed  civilization 
and  destroyed  thousands  in  a  day ;  preyed  upon  by 
harpies  whose  god  is  an  idol  of  gold  ;  having  tasted 
the  cup  and  become  enthralled  by  the  overpowering 
might  of  the  Demon  of  the  Still,  who  has  peopled  hell 
with  millions  ;  down-trodden  and  despised,  vicious  and 
depraved,  liars  and  thieves,  robbers  and  assassins  ; 
honor,  truth,  virtue,  and  valor  for  ever  lost.  Such, 
alas  !  is  their  ignoble  present. 

"There  are  fifty-four  Indians  remaining  in  Florida; 
there  are  among  these  but  fourteen  warriors."  This 
extract  from  a  late  newspaper  was  the  exciting  cause 
of  the  present  epistle,  and  mournful  were  the  thoughts 
concerning  the  future  of  the  Indian.  Was  this  meagre 
handful  all  that  was  left  in  the  beautiful,  flower-bear- 
ing, palm-crowned  Florida,  of  those  who  were  once 
the  proud  lords  of  all  its  fertile  lands?  Would  the 
teeming  savannahs  never  more  present  for  them  their 
stores  ?  Would  the  thick-woven,  vine-covered  coverts 
of  the  almost  impenetrable  hammocks  never  more  offer 
to  them  a  refuge  from  the  invading  foe  ?  In  mournful 
cadence  comes  the  answer,  Nevermore.  Never  again 
shall  the  Suwanee's  bright  waters  sing  a  lullaby  for 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  159 

the  child  left  to  sleep  on  its  banks.  Never  again  shall 
the  Ocklockonee  reflect  the  graceful  form  of  the  dark- 
browed  maiden,  as  she  views  her  beautiful  features  in 
the  limpid  waters,  or  disports  herself  beneath  its  blue 
waves.  Never  more  shall  the  warrior  launch  his  light 
canoe  on  AVithlacoochee's  stream,  and  glide  along  to 
the  lodge  where  his  loved  one  dwells,  or  hasten  down 
the  swift  current,  carrying  death  and  destruction,  at 
the  dead  of  night,  into  the  silent  camp  of  the  slumber- 
ing foe. 

Alas !  the  red  men  have  departed,  and  are  as  though 
they  were  not.     Where  once  the  shrill  war-whoop  was 
reechoed  from  the  forests,  is  heard  now  the  shrieking 
of  the  locomotive,  as  it  hurries  along  on  its  iron  path. 
The  ring  of  the  woodman's  axe  breaks  the  solemn  still- 
ness which  once  reigned  throughout  the  orange-groves. 
And   even   the   mounds  which  were   raised  over   the 
graves  of  the  dead  are  worn  down  and  destroyed  by 
the  ploughshare.     It  requires  no  prophetic  eye  to  see — 
for  the  vista  of  years  is  not  long — how,  gradually,  the 
Indians  will  disappear;  how,   one  by  one,   they  will 
pass  away,  until  of  the  aborigines  of  America  not  one 
will  be  left  to  tell  the  story  of  the  glory  of  his  ances- 
tors, or  the  sad  fate  of  their  posterity.     They  are  fast 
disappearing  from  the   present,  to   take   their  place 
among  the  nations  of  history.     Their  relics  will  be 
preserved  among  the  curiosities  of  museums,  and,  in 
the  words  of  another,  "  theirs  will  soon  be  the  dead  lan- 
guage of  a  dead  people."     And  to  pass  away  and  be 
forgotten ;  this,  indeed,  is  their  mournful  future. 
If  you  ask,  Why  is  this  ?  the  answer  is  that  it  is  a 


IGO  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

necessity  of  the  scheme  and  plan  of  civilization.  It 
is  an  obstacle  which  must  be  overthrown  in  the  course 
of  progression.  It  is  a  barrier  which  must  be  passed, 
which  impedes  the  westward  inarch  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
race,  ever  following  steadily  and  rcsistlcssly  in  the 
path  illuminated  by  the  beacon-light  wliich  gloriously 
beams  from  the  radiant  "  Star  of  Empire." 


"RALEIGH  ISM." 


"  Different  men  have  different  opinions ; 
Some  like  leeks,  and  some  like  inions." 

I  AM  distinctly  opposed  to  controversy,  and  am  for 
letting  every  man  enjoy  his  own  opinions  unmolested, 
even  should  they  be  pernicious.  I  would  not  quai'rel 
with  the  person,  let  him  think  as  he  pleases  ;  but  when 
he  publishes  his  opinions  to  the  world,  and  I  publish 
mine,  if  these  opinions  come  in  conflict,  why,  all  I 
say  is,  "Let  'em  come."  So  ^much  by  way  of  ex- 
planation. 

The  Elizabethan  age  in  English  history  may  well  be 
called  the  golden  age  of  England.  The  kingdom  was 
at  the  height  of  prosperity,  being  ably  and  wisely  go- 
verned by  a  queen  of  masculine  energy  and  will, 
assisted  by  most  efficient  counsellors.  England  was 
peaceful  at  home,  secure  from  internal  commotions ; 
and  her  power  was  feared  and  respected  by  all  foreign 
nations.     Commerce  was  flourishing,   and  every  ship 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  161 

•wliicli  came  to  port  brought  the  golden  spoils  of  Span- 
ish galleons,  or  the  rich  produce  of  Eastern  and  West- 
ern Indies.  T]io  Protestant  religion  was  then  first 
established  on  that  firm  basis  from  -which  it  has  never 
since  been  shaken.  Literature  was  at  the  height  of 
its  glory,  and  in  its  temple  William  Shakspeare  was 
the  great  high-priest.  The  grand  old  Baron  of  Veru- 
1am,  Francis  Bacon,  was  entering  on  his  high  career 
of  reforming  the  systems  of  human  knowledge.  The 
brave  Robert  Devereux,  Earl  of  Essex,  led  the  armies 
to  victory  on  land,  while  Francis  Drake  rode  conqueror 
of  the  seas.  In  truth,  this  was  a  golden  age,  ren- 
dered illustrious,  as  it  has  been,  by  the  deeds  of  many 
a  one  whose  name  the  world  '*  would  not  willingly  let 
die."  There  was  Spenser,  who  wrote  about  "the 
heavenly  Una  and  her  milk-white  lamb."  There  was 
his  noble  patron,  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  renowned  in  peace 
and  war,  who,  ere  he  died  covered  with  glory  at  Zut- 
phen,  gave  the  water,  brought  to  cool  his  burning 
thirst,  to  assuage  the  pangs  of  a  d^'ing  soldier.  There 
were  the  Cecils,  Bui-leigh  and  Salisbury,  father  and 
son,  both  famed  as  councillors  and  statesmen.  There 
were  Cavendish  and  Grenville,  and  Frobisher  and 
Drake.  There  were  Amias  Paulet  and  Drue  Drury, 
who  would  not  consent  to  treachery  toward  their  royal 
captive,  Scotland's  queen. 

There  was  Dudley,  Earl  of  Leicester,  the  proud  lord 
of  famous  Kenilworth,  and  haughty  favorite  of  Eliza- 
beth. And  last,  not  least,  was  Walter  Ealeigh — Walter 
Raleigh,  historian,  warrior,  poet,  statesman ;  Walter 
Raleigh,  who,  if  success  were  not  the  world's  criterion 


162  LYRICS    AND    SKETCnES. 

of  merit,  would  rank  highest  among  the  heroes  "who 
assisted  iu  the  palingenesis  of  the  Western  world ; 
Walter  Raleigh,  who,  having  served  his  country  faith- 
fully and  well,  was  rewarded  for  his  services  by  the 
headsman's  axe.  To  be  a  brave  and  generous  knight, 
valiant,  accomplished,  and  a  gallant,  courtly  gentle- 
man, was  the  loftiest  aspiration  of  high-born  youths 
in  those  old  days ;  and  such  was  Walter  Raleigh. 
His  throwing  his  cloak  on  tlie  ground,  tliat  thereon  his 
queen  might  pass  by  without  discomfort,  is  an  evi- 
dence of  his  ready,  thoughtful  gallantry,  which  could 
spring  only  from  a  kind  and  gentle  heart.  It  may 
seem  to  some,  in  these  cold,  main-chance,  matter-of- 
fact  days,  a  romantic  action,  and  rather  high-flown, 
but  surely  it  was  not  a  foolish  one.  And  the  queen 
who  would  have  passed  on  careless  of  the  deed,  or  who 
would  have  laughed  at  him,  instead  of  being  touched 
by  his  loyal  devotion,  would  richly  deserve  to  be  de- 
throned and  turned  into  a  cook.  This  action,  and 
similar  ones  of  others  and  of  otlier  times,  have  been 
classed  together,  and  sneered  and  reprehended  under 
the  name  of  '*  Raleighism  ;"  and  this  has  caused  this 
letter.  If  deferential  politeness  and  lofty  acts  of  gal- 
lantry to  females  be  "Raleighism ;"  if,  by  attention 
and  kindness,  and  even  romantic  and  chivalrous  devo- 
tion, striving  to  raise  woman  from  a  household  drudge, 
or  a  mere  creature  to  serve  man's  passions,  to  an  ac- 
knowledged position  as  man's  equal  or  his  superior, 
(as  she  certainly  is,  in  all  the  spiritual  and  aesthetic 
sentiments,)  be  "Raleighism ;"  if  softening  the  man- 
ners and  elevating  the  tone  and  spirit  of  this  brazen 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  163 

age  be  "Raleighism,"  then  I,  for  one,  say,  "Give  me 
Raleighisin." 

When  I  see  (and  only  in  America  can  I  see  it)  a  man 
rising  from  his  comfortable  place  in  a  crowded  car, 
and  yielding  it  to  a  female,  whether  she  bo  poorly  clad 
or  dressed  in  rich  apparel,  because  she  is  a  woman, 
then  I  think  to  myself,  "Thank  God!  the  spirit  of 
Raleigh  still  lives." 


WOMEN'S    EYES. 


Eyes  ever  have  been,  are,  and  always  will  be  objects 
of  great  interest  to  mankind,  from  every  point  of  view. 
They  are  used  as  murderous  weapons,  when  we  look 
daggers.  They  are  used  as  places  of  deposit,  as  when 
we  say,  "That's  all  in  my  eye."  They  sometimes  ac- 
quire a  sort  of  personality  when  appealed  to  alone  or 
in  conjunction  with  the  illustrious  Elizabeth  Martin. 
They  are  convenient  marks  at  which  to  direct  "  smash- 
ers," when  engaged  in  pugnacious  warfare.  They  are 
the  members  of  the  body  oftenest  consigned  by  pro- 
fane seafaring  men  to  utter  condemnation.  Finally, 
they  are  good,  very  good  to  see  with.  Glass  eyes  are 
very  smooth  and  bright,  and  look  very  well,  but  they 
can  never  look  to  compare  with  the  commonest  and 
homeliest  pair  of  nature's  productions.  Spectacles 
and  eye-glasses  and  telescopes  and  microscopes  are 
very  well  in  their  way ;  but  what  would  they  be  with- 
out the  eye,  as  the  final  cause  of  all  their  usefulness  ? 


164  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

Eyes  are  like  i  ivers,  for  they  have  cataracts.  They 
are  like  old  handkerchiefs,  t-ometimes  full  of  tears. 
They  are  like  house-frames,  full  of  beams ;  these 
beams  being  of  two  species — the  one  (not  desirable) 
occurring  when  (he  person  is  peculiarly  observant  of 
motes  in  the  ocular  organs  of  others  ;  the  other  (very 
good)  most  often  seen  in  the  bright  eyes  of  beautiful 
females.  All  animals  have  eyes,  even  oysters,  except 
those  unfortunate  fish  dwelling  in  the  black  waters  of 
the  Mammoth  Cave,  which  fish,  not  being  able  to  see 
the  dangers  of  the  barbed  hook,  seize  the  bait,  which 
they  can  smell,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  and 
thus  become  the  easy  prey  of  unprincipled  anglers, 
meanly  taking  advantage  of  their  benighted  condition, 
"thus  affording  a  melancholy  proof  of  the  depravity 
of  mankind."  Potatoes  have  eyes ;  and  these  vege- 
tables, being  the  chief,  if  not  the  entire  food  of  the 
Irish  people,  are  the  cause  of  that  nation's  being  so 
extremely  wide  awake.  Persons  or  chicken  -  cocks 
with  one  eye  are  sportively  denominated  Blinkers, 
upon  the  blind  side  of  whom  it  is  always  safest  to 
begin  the  attack,  in  the  event  of  a  hostile  collision. 
When  people  lose  their  sight,  God  pity  them  !  There 
is  an  afiliction  to  which  all  other  physical  ones  are  but 
light.  The  flowers  may  dress  themselves  in  brightest 
hues  ;  the  birds  may  gleam  in  the  golden  sunlight  with 
gaudiest  plumage ;  the  sunbeams  may  gild  the  green 
leaves  and  burnish  the  bright  waters  and  crown  the 
mountain-tops  with  a  coronet  of  glory,  but  it  is  all 
black  to  them.  All  the  grandest  exhibitions  of  nature  ; 
all  the  most  wonderful  achievements  of  science ;  all 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  1G5 

the  glorious  trophies  which  art  has  raised,  are  to  them 
as  though  they  were  not ;  and  the  remembrance  of 
former  joys  derived  from  these  sources,  (the  sources 
of  the  most  I'efined  pleasures,)  must  be  fraught  with 
pain,  from  the  consciousness  of  present  and  future  de- 
privation. Not  eternal  deprivation,  though  ;  for,  thank 
God,  death  must  come  !  And  death,  closing  the  mortal 
eye,  opens  wide  the  spirit's  view,  and  the  blind  can  see 
such  glorious  creations  in  the  land  of  immortality  as 
never  yet^have  been  beheld  among  earth's  fairest  scenes, 
enchantingly  lovely  though  they  may  be. 

I  once  heard  of  a  cure  for  blindness,  which,  being 
simple,  I  would  recommend  for  trial.  A  blind  man 
once  eating  a  very  tough  beef-steak,  had  to  pull  so 
hard  that  he  pulled  his  eyes  open.  I  am  happy  to 
state  that  in  gratitude  he  alwaj's  afterwards  ate  beef- 
steak whenever  he  could  get  it. 

But  my  preliminary  remarks  are  stretching  so  far, 
that  they  will  leave  but  little  room  for  expatiating 
upon  the  original  subject,  which  is 

women's    eyes. 

They  express  more  than  men's  eyes.  Be  they  black 
or  blue,  or  brown  or  gray,  or  even  green,  (most  hor- 
rible, the  latter,)  there  is  always  an  expression  about 
them  which  shows  that  they  are  truly  the  windows  of 
the  soul.  You  never  saw  a  woman  who  could  look  one 
thing  and  mean  another.  They  very  often  speak  dif- 
ferently from  what  they  think,  but  they  never  look 
otherwise  than  as  their  feelings  prompt  them.  The 
mere  matter  of  color  makes  but  little  difference.     Of 


IGG  ^LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

course  you  oftenest  find  black  eyes  an  indication  of  a 
quick,  fiery,  passionate  nature,  whose  possessor  hates 
or  loves  fiercely,  and  blue  eyes  indicating  softness  and 
pliability,  and  strong  but  not  passionate  attachment  or 
aversion.  Yet  you  often  find  the  natural  sequence  re- 
versed, and  the  dispositions  consequent  upon  one  de- 
scription of  physical  conformation  all  attending  the 
opposite.  In  this,  as  in  every  thing  else,  we  nrc  ruled 
by  conventionality,  that  great  extinguisher  of  all  natu- 
ral feeling  or  expression.  Because  painters,  when 
they  wish  to  represent  Faith  or  Hope  or  Resignation, 
or  something  preeminently  extramundane,  choose  as 
an  impersonation  a  female  figure,  and  represent  her 
with  auburn  or  golden  hair  and  fair  complexion  and 
blue  eyes,  are  we  to  conclude  that  Blondes  are  better 
or  purer  or  holier  than  Brunettes?  Or,  when  they 
would  portray  an  Aspasia  or  a  Cleopatra  or  a  Ninon  de 
I'Enclos,  because  they  use  brown  umber  and  burnt 
sienna,  instead  of  pink  and  white,  or  ivory-black,  in- 
stead of  ultramai'iue,  are  we  to  suppose  that  women  with 
brown  complexions,  whose  cheeks  the  sunbeams  have 
loved  to  dwell  upon,  and  black  eyes  whose  brightness 
rivals  the  light  of  stars,  are  any  more  earthly  or  less 
divine  than  the  pale-faced,  fiiir-haired  representatives 
of  angels  ?  No  :  one  is  as  good  as  the  other,  for  both 
are  beautiful  and  true  and  good  by  nature.  And  you 
find  a  bluc-eycd  woman  as  likely  to  stray  from  vir- 
tue's paths  from  want  of  will,  as  you  find  a  black- 
eyed  woman  from  force  of  passion. 

Women  ca7i  talk,  and  do  talk,  (Heaven  knows,)  but 
they  have  so  very  many  emotions  that  their  eyes  must 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  167 

talk  too.  And  then,  as  if  kind  Heaven  were  determined 
to  make  them  guileless  whether  or  no,  every  emotion 
of  their  hearts  is  very  clearly  shown  in  their  eyes. 
They  cannot  be  deceitful.  They  may  talk  deceptively, 
and  if  you  listen  without  looking,  or  are  unable  to 
read  the  signs  in  their  eyes,  you  may  be  deceived ;  but 
Heaven  has  added  this  quality,  so  as  to  make  her,  so 
to  speak,  in  spite  of  herself,  truthful.  So  let  her  have 
blue  or  black  or  gi'ay  or  brown  or  green  (which  last  is 
especially  horrible)  eyes,  a  woman,  as  yet  uncontam- 
inatcd  by  earth's  influences,  is  the  most  beautiful,  the 
truest,  the  purest,  and  the  holiest  of  God's  creations; 
and  the  most  beautiful,  the  best  of  her  possessions, 
are  brightly-beaming,  soul-lit  eyes. 


LITTLE    GIRLS 


A  BEAUTIFUL,  blusliing  rosebud,  a  moss  rosebud,  is 
something  like  a  little  girl ;  only  something  like,  though, 
for  earth  does  not  possess  in  its  fairest  gardens  or  rich- 
est treasuries  any  flower  half  so  beautiful,  any  jewel 
half  so  radiant  as  a  graceful,  lovely,  innocent  girl. 
Modest  as  is  the  violet  half  hidden  beneath  the  grass 
and  spangled  with  dewdrops,  it  is  not  more  modest 
than  she  is.  Sweet  as  is  the  perfumed  breath  of  the 
jessamine,  swaying  and  rustling  its  golden  bells,  it  is 
not  more  sweet  than  the  fragrance  of  virtue  and  truth, 
which  is  bounteously  shed  around  her.  Bright  as  is 
the  light  which  gleams  from  the  diamond  sparkling 


168  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

preeminent  in  a  carcauet  of  gems,  it  is  not  more  ra- 
diant than  the  love-light  which  illumes  and  beams 
forth  from  her  eyes.  Light  as  is  the  prattling  and 
babbling  of  the  streamlet,  as  it  goes  leaping  and  glid- 
ing along  in  its  flower-decked  banks,  it  is  not  more 
joyous  than  the  silvery  sound  of  the  musical  laughter 
which  comes  welling  up  from  her  mirth-laden  breast, 
and  wreathing  her  cheeks  and  lips  with  sunniest  smiles. 
Pure  as  are  the  pearls  whitely  gleaming  from  the  ocean 
caves,  or  the  lilies  bowing  to  the  salutations  of  the 
breezes  which  come  bearing  the  tribute  of  rich  odors 
gleaned  from  flower-beds  over  which  they  had  flown, 
they  are  not  more  pure,  nor  is  purity  itself  more  holy 
than  the  heart  of  a  little  girl,  fit  shrine  for  the  indwell- 
ing of  Heaven's  choicest  perfections. 

He  must  be  very  wicked  and  sin-polluted  who  does 
not  love  little  girls.  I  love  them  of  all  sizes,  except 
when  they  are  about  six  feet  high,  and  weigh  about 
three  hundred.  Then,  sweet  and  good  as  they  are, 
they  become  rather  too  much  of  a  good  thing. 

Now  there  is  one  little  girl  who  brings  the  light  of 
sunbeams  and  the  odor  of  roses  whenever  she  comes 
near  me,  and  I  have  promised  to  tell  her  a  stoi^y ;  and 
as  I  would  not  for  the  world  tell  her  a  story,  here  goes 
for  the  performance  of  the  promise.  (If  it  turn  out 
to  be  a  very  poor  story,  or  no  story  at  all,  you  must 
remember  that  I  said  I  would  not  for  the  world  tell  a 
story. 

A    STORY   FOR    TINY — (mARY   YOUNG    BRYCE.) 

Well,  the  winter  had  come,  and  all  the  beautiful 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  169 

flowers  were  dead,  and  the  birds  had  flown  away  and 
carried  their  sweet  music  to  gladden  the  hearts  of  those 
who  dwell  in  the  more  genial  regions,  where  the  sun 
laughs  all  the  year  round  with  a  broad  grin  of  summer. 
The  melancholy,  sighing  winds  of  autumn  had  come 
and  condoled  with  the  trees,  and  these  had  cast  their 
sad-colored  leaves  over  the  graves  where  the  seeds 
were  buried,  waiting  for  their  resurrection.  The  little 
life-germs  of  the  future  leaves  and  flowers  were  all 
sleeping,  covered  over  with  their  brown  and  russet 
bedclothes ;  and  thus,  though  the  winter  winds  might 
blow  coldly,  and  the  sleet  might  rattle  chilly,  they 
were  all  warm  and  cosy.  Sometimes,  when  it  grew 
very  cold,  the  Great  Father  would  send  down  his 
gently- falling,  soft,  fleecy  snow ;  and  a  warm  white  quilt 
would  then  be  added  to  their  covering.  So  the  winter 
passed  on,  and  the  germs  slept  on.  Now  the  sun,  who 
had  been  wrapped  up  in  clouds,  as  if  he  too  feared 
the  cold,  began  to  peep  out  and  wink  at  the  tree-tops 
where  the  icicles  were  hanging ;  and  the  trees  were  so 
glad  that  they  wept  for  joy,  and  threw  away  the  ice- 
diamonds  which  the  Frost  King  had  given  them,  (for  I 
am  sorry  to  say  they  had  been  coquetting  outrageously 
with  old  Hiems — that  is,  Jack  Frost — while  the  sun 
was  gone,  and  had  received  many  beautiful  presents  of 
diamonds  and  pearls  and  all  kinds  of  precious  jewels,) 
and  forthwith  they  began  to  rustle  their  branches  and 
straighten  out  their  twigs  and  primp  up  generally  and 
extensively.  Then  the  little  golden  mntes  which  glide 
up  and  down  on  the  sunbeams,  began  to  gather  around 
the  trees  and  nestle  on  their  widespread  arms ;  and 
G 


170  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

they  ■wliipperc'l  to  the  germs  and  buds  to  come  forth 
an  1  i>l:iy  ;  fur  the  oM  winter  was  dying,  and  tliey  must 
come  forth  and  prepare  the  palace  and  the  throne  for 
the  reception  of  the  young  and  rosy  spring.  How- 
ever, the  trees  were  timorous,  and  rather  afraid  to  let 
the  buds  come  out  so  soon,  and  so  they  waited,  just 
like  people  do,  to  see  who  would  lead  the  way.  Then 
an  audacious  little  plum  tree  came  out  one  morning, 
and  not  only  in  summer  costume,  but  actually  all  in 
white,  as  if  to  show  its  contempt  of  danger  by  deri- 
sively sporting  the  liverj^  of  winter.  No  sooner  did 
this  occur  than  all  tlie  peach  trees  resolved  not  to  be 
outdone,  and  here  they  came,  nodding  and  bowing  and 
courtesying,  all  dressed  out  in  their  finei^t  blush-colored 
raiment.  That  is  to  say,  I  thought  at  first  that  they 
were  dressed  as  I  have  just  described ;  but  a  little 
fairy  who  happened  just  then  to  be  fluttering  past, 
whispered  to  me  that  this  was  not  the  dress  of  the 
trees,  but  that  they  had  heard  the  sweet  singing  of  the 
birds  and  spring  zephyrs,  and  had  looked  out  and 
smiled  with  flowers,  and  so  the  trees  were  only  clothed 
with  beauty.  (I  expect  that  is  what  made  the  peach 
trees  blush  so  violently.)  Finding  that  beauty,  how- 
ever becoming,  is  not  a  very  substantial  clotliing,  they 
then  did  dress  themselves  in  earnest,  or  rather  m  green  ; 
and  the  fruit  trees  had  their  clothes  adorned  with  rows 
of  round,  bright  green  velvet  buttons.  (I  suppose  the 
other  trees  fastened  their  chithes  with  strings  and  rib- 
bons and  pins;  but  about  this  I  am  not  certain.)  Thus 
they  were  all  smiling  and  bright  and  happy,  when 
suddenly  there  was  heard  a  low,  rumbling,  muttering 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  171 

sound  from  afar  off.  The  trees  heard  it,  but  played 
on  and  smiled  on  as  brightly  as  ever.  Then  the  clouds, 
who  saw  the  coming  of  danger,  came  and  wept  over 
the  earth,  for  they  knew  that  trouble  was  near.  The 
old  cowardly  sun  hid  himself  quickly,  and  put  on  his 
night-cap  of  mists  and  went  to  sleep  again.  The  trees 
played  on  and  smiled  on,  but  they  began  to  tremble 
and  look  pale,  for  they  heard  the  clarion-notes  which 
the  heralding  tempests  blew.  Then  came  the  army  of 
the  Frost  King,  with  sharp,  shining  spears  and  white 
plumes,  and  they  marched  up  in  dreadful  array  and 
made  prisoners  of  the  trees.  Then  John,  the  great 
king  of  frost  and  ice  and  snow,  put  on  his  ermine  robes 
and  pronounced  sentence  on  the  shivering,  trembling 
prisoners. 

The  sentence  was : 

1st.  *'  That  all  the  trees  who  had  been  caught  dressed 
out  in  fine  array  to  do  honor  to  the  young  prince, 
Spring,  should  have  their  buttons  cut  off  and  their 
fine  dresses  scorched  and  torn,  as  a  mark  of  disgrace." 

2d.  "That  the  plum  tree,  the  ringleader,  should  be 
beheaded  immediately,  if  not  sooner." 

Loud  were  the  lamentations  and  sighs  of  the  poor 
prisoners.  (Some  people,  stupid  people,  said  that  it 
was  the  wind  blowing  through  the  branches  ;  but  I 
knew  better  than  that.)  There  were  many  friends  to 
sympathize  with  the  trees,  and  many  fellow-sufferers 
to  weep  with  them  ;  for  upon  the  toes  and  ears  of  some 
little  persons  were  the  marks  of  the  cruelty  of  him 
vhom  people  contemptuously  call  Jack  Frost.  And  I 
grieved  too,  Tiny ;  for  I  thought,  Alas !  alas !  where 


172  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

now  will  be  the  plum-jelly  that  I  have  loved  so  long 
anl  well;  where  the  pics  whose  flavor  rejoiced  my 
palate,  and  where  the  sweet  milk  and  peaches,  dearer 
than  all? 

Now,  Tiny,  as  to  the  meaning  of  all  this,  simply 
told,  it  is  this:  The  trees  put  out  their  flowers  and 
leaves  too  soon,  and  the  frost  came  and  nipped  them. 
You  may  ask  why  I  did  not  say  so,  then,  without  all 
that  talk  about  dress  and  trumpets  and  diamonds  and 
60  on.  The  reason  is,  because  I  am  very  fond  of  talk- 
ing and  writing,  when  I  get  anybody  to  listen  to  me 
and  read  what  I  write;  so  I  took  the  opportunity  to 
say  as  much  as  I  could.  And  now  good  night.  I  sup- 
pose you  won't  be  very  anxious  to  hear  any  more  sto- 
ries from  tiresome  and  tired  Rubt. 


THE    ACME    OF    BEAUTY. 


Do  you  know  what  I  consider  the  acme  of  beauty? 
Perhaps  it  may  make  but  little  difterence  to  any  one 
what  may  bo  my  private  opinion  on  this  highly  inte- 
resting subject;  but  it  is  a  free  country,  and  (thanks 
to  your  courtesy  to  me)  a  free  press,  and  1  intend  to 
express  my  opinions,  and  if  any  one  object,  he  or  she 
may  go  to  the  D-ictionary  for  a  better  interpretation 
of  the  signification,  or  rather  for  a  better  realizing  of 
the  ideal  of  the  perfection  of  Beauty. 

"  Beauty  is  but  skin  deep,"  as  was  remarked  to 
St.  Bartholomew  when  his  cuticle  was  removed,  and 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  173 

he  left  in  a  garment  not  so  becoming  as  comfortable  to 
those  who  like  that  style  of  summer  dress.  "  Well, 
suppose  it  is  only  skin-deep ;  who  wants  it  any 
deeper  ?"  said  the  saint.  With  these  preliminary 
remarks,  bearing  their  moral  very  much  exposed,  and 
not  by  any  manner  of  means  distinguished  for  sense 
or  profundity — quite  the  reverse,  on  the  contrary — I 
come  back  to  first  principles,  and  proceed  to  say  what 
I  consider  to  be  the  acme  of  mundane  beauty ;  and 
this  is,  "A  beautiful,  refined  woman  seated  on  a  fine 
horse,  holding  a  rosebud  in  her  hand,  and  admii'ing 
and  loving  a  glorious  sunset." 

Now  let  me  tell  you  some  of  the  accessories,  in  my 
opinion,  necessary  to  this  perfection.  The  woman  (I 
do  not  say  lady,  for  woman  is  a  good  word)  must  be, 
not  brilliantly  or  garishly  beautiful,  but  softly,  wo- 
manly, lovely.  Not  one  who  steps  out  boldly  with 
the  stately  air  of  a  queen,  and  by  her  striking  and 
well-displayed  charms  seems  to  say,  *'I  am  a  beauty; 
come  now  and  bow  the  knee,  and  own  my  power  ;"  but 
one  who  is  beautiful  because  she  cannot  help  it,  and 
whose  blushes  seem  to  say,  *'If  you  xcill  worship  me, 
do  so,  and  I  am  grateful  for  the  homage,  for  through 
me  you  worship  the  Giver  of  beauty,  the  great  God, 
the  perfection  of  all  beauty."  She  should  wear  a 
close-fitting  dark  riding-habit,  and  her  hair  should  be 
covered,  but  not  concealed,  by  a  black  velvet  cap 
surmounted  by  two  drooping  plumes,  one  black  as  the 
raven's  wing,  and  the  other  as  purely  whi(«*  as  the 
unsullied  plumage  of  some  hyperborean  swan.  The 
rose-bud — any  small  flower  would  do,  but  I  prefer  a 


174  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

rose-bud,  blushing,  half-opened  and  moss-coverod  n<*. 
to  its  leaves  and  .stem — tlie  rose-bud,  I  sny,  should 
have  been  gatliercd  yrhhn  incense  was  rising  heavm- 
ward  from  the  flower-beds,  and  while  the  dew-diaraonds 
were  spangling  its  breast;  and  it  should  have  been 
preserved  as  an  offering  to  her  with  a  care  equal  to 
the  venerating  guardianship  wiih  which  a  priest 
watches  over  some  saintly  relic  of  olden  days.  The 
horse  should  be  small,  compact,  and  not  addicted  to 
pacing  or  trotting.  His  color  should  be  a  deep  blnod 
bay,  or  a  coal  black,  or  a  dark  sorrel.  Said  horse 
should  toss  his  mane  and  curve  liis  neck,  and  seem  as 
if  proud  of  his  lovely  burden.  The  sunset  should  be 
one  of  those  seen  only  in  Southern  lands,  where  the 
richest  tints  and  brightest  hues  are  commingled  in 
lavish  profusion;  where  it  seems  as  if  an  antevision 
of  the  glories  of  the  land  of  the  hereafter  were  kindly 
granted  to  earth-contaminated  mortals. 

Now,  it  was  not  "  many  and  many  a  year  ago,"  but 
it  was  some  time  ago  that  your  correspondent  was 
favored  with  the  enjoyment  of  such  a  feast  of  beauty 
as  never  the  most  beauty-sensualistic  artist  ever 
revelled  in.  After  a  week  of  gayety  and  dissipation, 
when,  if  one  thinks  at  all,  he  muses  on  the  '*  rorjcVaa 
vanitatinn,"  etc.  ;  when,  wearied  from  excitement,  and 
having  become  of  the  earth  very  earthy,  he  seeks  for 
rest  from  the  turmoil  raging  without  and  within ; 
after  just  such  a  eea'^on,  when  T  was  tliinking  and 
feeling  just  as  I  have  described,  I  was  permitted  the 
great  privilege  of  accompanying  a  most  lovely  lady  on 
an  excursion  into  the  country.     The  green  leaves  of 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  175 

the  trees  were  shining  with  gladness,  and  the  rich 
perfumes  which  came  on  the  wings  of  the  breezes,  and 
the  carollings  of  the  birds  rejoicing  in  their  regained 
freedom  from  the  cold  thraldrom  of  winter,  all  were 
sweet  harbingers  of  the  young  and  lovely  summer- 
time. We  rode  where  the  naked  rocks  frowned  grimly 
down  from  craggy  eminences,  and  where  caverns 
yawned  darkly  and  deeply  beneath  us ;  but  here  kind 
nature,  ever  benevolent  and  profuse  with  beauty,  ever 
and  anon  had  sent  a  clambering  vine  to  lace  its  tender 
tendrils  and  cover  the  rude  rock  with  a  delicate  net- 
work of  crimson  and  green.  And  as  we  rode  along, 
the  sweet  stillness  of  the  scene  was  softened,  not  dis- 
turbed, by  the  murmur  of  waters,  the  faintly  heard 
reechoings  of  the  grand  anthem  which  the  river  ever 
is  chanting;  and  suddenly  mounting  an  eminence, 
there  was  spread  out  before  us  in  its  picturesque 
grandeur,  like  a  broad  stream  of  molten  silver  enclosed 
between  vine-clad  and  tree-crowned  banks,  the  river 
of  rivers — the  blest  Congaree.  Across  the  waters  the 
sun  was  slowly  sinking  to  rest,  while  azure  and  gold, 
and  crimson,  and  purple,  and  orange,  and  rose,  and 
every  thing  gorgeous,  and  every  thing  grand,  and 
every  thing  richly  beautiful,  had  been  gathered  to 
adorn  his  resting-place  And  there  on  the  green 
banks  of  the  majestic  river  I  saw  my  ideal  completely 
realized — a  beautiful  refined  woman,  seated  on  a  fine 
horse,  holding  a  flower  in  her  hand,  and  admiring  and 
loving  a  glorious  sunset. 


170  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES 


CROOKED    STICKS,     ETC. 


Did  you  ever  try  to  make  up  a  nice  cosy  fire,  ami 
have  a  crooked  misshapen  log,  which  would  lie  no  one 
way,  but  was  always  in  the  way  or  out  of  the  way, 
preventing  the  cheery  bluze  from  ascending?  I  have  just 
been  endeavoring  (o  make  up  just  sucli  a  tire,  and  just 
such  anotlier amorphous  stick  has  malevolently  thwarted 
all  my  designs.  I  punched  this  way  and  I  punched 
it  that  way;  I  rammed  here  and  I  jammed  it  tliere;  I 
punched  it  all  over,  lengthwise,  crosswise,  and  round- 
aboutwise;  but,  in  the  words  of  Archimedes,  "it  was 
no  go,"  I  retired,  I  yielded,  I  succumbed,  beaten,  as 
many  others  have  been,  by  a  stick.  I  gave  up  the 
effort  as  useless  to  stick  to  it,  and  as  a  wilful  woman 
will  have  her  way,  (so  will  a  fat  one  have  her  weigh,) 
and  so  will  a  crooked  stick.  There  are  many  other 
crooked  sticks  in  this  world  besides  those  we  use  for 
fuel.  There  are  men  who  are  never  happy  themselves, 
and  prevent  others  from  being  so  by  their  sour  faces, 
and  harsh  remarks,  and  utter  heartlessness.  There 
arc  women  who  gossip  about  their  neighbors,  with  sly 
innuendoes,  and  cruel  jeerings,  and  oftentimes  with 
lies.  They  spread  false  rumors,  and  cast  stains  on 
hitherto  spotless  reputations.  They  follow  with  the 
condemning  crowd  to  stone  an  erring  sister,  but  were 
they  told,  "  Let  her  that  is  without  sin  among  you  cast 
the  first  stone,"  they  would  not  dare  to  throw  the 
smallest  pebble.     These  are  the  crooked  sticks  in  tlie 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  177 

fagots  called  communities;  and  these  will  the  devil 
use  for  fuel.  Then  they'll  lie  straight  and  keep  quiet. 
There  is  another  kind  of  crooked  sticks.  They  are 
those  who  cannot  keep  straight,  even  though  they  try. 
They  lie  smoothly  enough  at  first,  but  suddenly  the 
heat  increases,  and  here  comes  a  bend,  and  a  warp, 
and  a  crook,  and  their  symmetry  is  destroyed,  and 
then  they  are  in  the  way  of  their  fellows.  These  are 
those  good-hearted,  kind,  generous,  oftentimes  talented 
men,  whose  course  is  virtuous,  and  straight,  and  beau- 
tiful ;  but  the  heat  of  fiery  temptation  comes,  and  they 
are  led  astray  and  become  crooked  sticks.  Perhaps 
the  devil  will  catch  these  too,  but  let  us  hope  that  he 
will  not  make  back-logs  of  them.  Well,  as  I  was  going 
on  to  say  when  these  last  remarks  so  rudely  interrupted 
me,  I  let  the  log  alone,  knowing  that  in  the  course  of 
time,  by  means  of  the  vigorous  application  of  fiery 
measures  from  below,  it  would  burn  out  of  the  way ; 
and  80,  with  the  happy  consciousness  that  what  is  to 
be  will  be,  I  bide  ray  time. 


OTHER    DAYS 


It  is  always  pleasant  to  look  back  to  boyhood. 
Don't  let  your  glance  fall  on  the  intermediate  space 
from  then  until  now,  for  there  is  too  often  some  dark 
spot  which  disfigures  the  beauty  of  the  picture,  and 
will  cause  feelings  of  sorrow  and  often  of  pain.  But 
go  back   to  boyhood  or  young  manhood,  when  your 


178  LYRICS     AND     SKETCHES. 

heart  was  overflowing  with  joy  and  mirth,  and  you 
rejoiced  in  the  simple  consciousness  of  deinq — the 
mere  act  of  living ;  when,  if  you  did  do  wrong  things, 
they  were  not  very  wicked,  but  might  be  called  the 
exuberances  of  life  and  youthful  f^pirits;  and  they 
were  sooa  atoned  for,  and  as  soon  forgotten,  and 
should  as  soon  have  been  forgiven. 

I  love  thus  to  look  back — for  though  I  have  not 
seen  many  lustres,  I  have  a  past  to  revert  to — and 
think  over  the  scenes  which  were  then  witnessed,  and 
the  deeds  then  transacted.  I  love  to  remember  the 
agents  of  those  actions,  as  gay,  and  careless,  and 
light-hearted  a  set  of  seventeen  year  olds  as  ever 
raised  a  row  or  went  on  a  breeze.  Closely  allied  were 
they — ay,  closer  than  a  band  of  brothers — and  alwa  \'s 
ready  for  whatever  might  turn  up,  be  it  fight,  fun,  or 
frolic.  That  band  is  dispersed  now,  and  those  lioys 
are  now  men,  striving  araid  the  ranks  of  warriors  in 
the  great  life-battle.  One  is  pursuing  with  rapid  steps 
a  path  which  leads  to  fame  and  glory.  A  rougli  road 
is  his;  but  he  has  that  radiant  jewel  called  genius, 
which  casts  a  bright  light  along  the  pathway.  One  is 
in  the  quiet  walks  of  life — good,  honest,  and  upriglit, 
if  not  renowned.  But  he,  though  unknown  to  fame, 
may  be  a  greater  hero  than  the  conqueror  in  a  hundred 
battles.  One,  alas,  is  going  downward ;  fast  and 
faster  along  a  road  smooth  and  declivitous  and  beau- 
tiful at  tir.st,  Willi  l)riirht-h\ied  flowers  growing  along 
the  side,  but  ending  in  a  gloomy  cavern  where  the 
monster  Ruin  dwells,  and  with  a  fiendish  yell  of 
delight  welcomes  his  victims. 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  179 

One  has  gone  home.  I  would  not  wreathe  his 
memory  with  a  cypress  wreath,  but  I  would  twine  around 
it  garlands  of  lilies  and  roses,  for  at  last  and  in  reality 
he  is  alive.  They  laid  him  in  a  coffin  and  clothed 
them  in  black,  and  with  tearful  eyes  they  snid  he  was 
dead.  But  I  looked  and  saAV  a  calm  smile  on  his  face, 
the  peaceful  smile  of  a  sense  of  rest — of  eternal  rest. 
And  I  did  not  weep,  for  my  heart  reflected  the  smile, 
and  I  knew  he  was  now  living  by  a  stream  where 
grow  amaranthine  flowers ;  a  stream  whose  bright 
waters  are  the  Waters  of  Life. 

I  was  thinking  to-night  of  these  old  times,  and 
scenes,  and  friends,  when  an  occurrence  came  before 
my  mind's  eye  which,  for  your  amusement,  I  will  pro- 
ceed to  relate. 

Not  very  many  years  ago,  in  North  Carolina,  in  a 
village  that  shall  be  "  nameless  here  for  evermore," 
there  might  have  been  seen,  not  ^^^  solitary  horseman," 
nor  *'a  beautiful  maiden  by  a  stream."  No,  dear 
reader ;  if  you  expect  any  thing  of  that  sort,  you  had 
better  quit  at  once.  I  repeat  it:  there  might  have 
been  seen — that  is,  if  any  one  had  looked,  and  a  great 
many  did  look — so  I  may  as  well  say,  there  was  seen 
a  large  crowd  collected  in  the  public  square  before  the 

Court  House  of ,  on  the  first  Monday  in  January 

of  the  year  of  grace  185 — .  In  the  midst  of  this 
crowd  there  was  an  individual  elevated  on  a  barrel; 
and  this  individual,  clothed  as  to  his  outward  man  in 
a  green  coat  of  a  shad-belly  cut,  and  all  ornate  with 
resplendent  buttons  of  shining  brass,  was  addressing 
the  assembled  multitude  on  the  incomparable  excel- 


180  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

lencies  and  ineffable  virtues  of  a  cei'tain  patent  medi- 
cine, wliich  would  cure  all  the  known  ills  to  which 
poor  suffering  mortality  is  sulyect,  and  prove  a 
panacea  for  a  thousand  hitherto-undreamed-of  mala- 
dies. He  had  just  finished  a  pathetic  and  glowing 
account  of  a  j'oung  and  lovely  female,  who  had  grown 
up  amid  the  fostering  care  of  a  loving  family,  and  was 
beginning  to  bless  her  home  with  the  thousand  sweet 
influences  which  a  woman  ever  scatters  around  her: 
as  a  flower  repays  the  care  of  him  who  rears  it,  by 
blooming  in  beauty  and  shedding  around  rich  per- 
fumes ;  when,  as  the  flower  is  wilted  by  the  simoon 
blast  of  summer,  she  was  stricken  down  by  the  hand 
of  disease,  and  the  gloom  of  the  dark  valley  was 
already  casting  its  forerunning  shadows  over  her 
lovely  features.  This  medicine  was  procured  for  her; 
it  was  taken — she  was  healed. 

There  was  an  evident  sensation  produced  upon  the 
crowd.  Their  hearts  were  warmeil,  and  the  people 
wore  beginning  to  buy  the  medicine  more  as  a  reward 
for  curing  that  beautiful  girl  than  for  any  self-bene- 
fited advantages  which  might  accrtie.  Just  then  a 
modest,  mild-looking  young  man,  with  flowing  golden 
locks  and  an  incipient  (very  incipient)  moustache,  who 
Imd  been  standing  near  the  barrel  accompanied  by  his 
well-loved  friend  Cutf,  (now,  alas!  married,)  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  crowd  to  himself  by  remarking 
thiit  he  had  experienced  the  beneficial  effects  of  the 
medicine,  and  would  like  to  give  his  testimony  in  its 
favor.     Taking  up  a  bottle  and  holding  it  between  his 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  181 

eye  and  the  sun,  so  as  to  mark  its  rich  color,  he  thus 
commenced : 

"Though  you  behokl  me  now  in  youth  and  beauty, 
proud  in  my  youth  and  rejoicing  in  my  beauty,  [buzz 
in  the  crowd,]  it  has  not  been  very  long  since  I  too 
was  stretched  upon  the  couch  of  suffering;  for  disease 
had  laid  its  heavy  hand  upon  me,  and  the  insidious 
heralds  of  the  conqueror  were  dinving  the  blood  from 
my  cheeks,  which  had  hitherto  bloomed  red  with  the 
roseate  liues  of  health.  [Applause  from  a  sentimental- 
looking  person  with  sleek  hair  and  a  dirty  shirt.] 
Day  by  day  1  grew  worse  and  worse.  Physicians  were 
called  in,  but  all  their  skill  was  of  no  avail.  The  dis- 
ease rapidly  progressed,  gaining  one  stronghold  after 
another,  until  it  environed  the  citadel  where  the  heart- 
drum  was  feebly  beating  its  alarum  to  call  all  the 
forces  and  strength  of  the  constitution  to  rally  to  the 
defence.  [*Go  it,'  said  Cuff.]  And  now  I  felt  myself 
growing  weaker  and  weaker,  and  knewr  that  the  life- 
sti'eam,  which  had  hitherto  flowed  so  brightly  along, 
was  almost  exhausted.  I  bade  a  long  farewell  to 
sorrowing  friends:  I  felt  the  icy  grasp  of  the  great 
all-conqueror ;  I  heard  the  hollow  tramp  of  the  black 
horses ;  and  hovering  on  the  confines  of  time,  I  could 
almost  hear  the  flowing  of  the  river,  and  the  music  of 
harps,  and  the  songs  of  angels.  ['Glory!'  from  an  old 
lady.]  Just  then  a  messenger  came  riding  furiously 
on  a  sweat-covered,  mud-stained,  foam-flecked  steed  ; 
he  rushed  into  the  room  and  presented  a  bottle  of  this 
glorious  Elixir  of  Life.  With  feeble  but  eager  grasp, 
I  seized  the  bottle,  drained  its  contents,  and " 


182  l^VHICS     AND     SKETCHES. 

"You  recovered  immediately,"  said  the  preen- 
coated  one  who  had  been  eagerly  listening  with  a 
smile  of  satif^faction  ligliling  his  face.  "No,  my 
friend,"  said  tlie  youth  ;   "unfortunately,  I  died!" 

A  yell  I  a  shout  !  a  cry  of  "5'o/rf.'"  was  heard.  A 
shower  of  bottles  darkened  the  air,  and  the  extreme 
ends  of  two  very  straight  coat-tails  were  seen  as  the 
speaker  and  his  friend  Cuff  evanished  round  a  near 
corner.  The  youthful  orator — I  blush  to  confess  it — 
was 

Your  friend,  Ruby. 


THE    EXPECTED    COMET 


A  WONDERFUL  thing  is  a  comet,  as  it  comes  and  shines 
upon  us  with  its  fearful  light  for  a  short  time,  and  then 
daslies  off  with  increased  velocity  into  the  boundless 
regions  of  space.  In  the  year  975,  A.  D.,  a  great 
comet  was  seen,  with  a  fiery  tail,  stretching  for  forty 
degrees  over  the  sky.  Then  it  struck  terror  into  the 
heart  of  every  one,  for  it  was  regarded  as  a  presage  of 
some  direful  calamity.  It  departed,  however,  leaving 
peoi>le  more  frightened  tlian  they  were  hurt,  and  once 
more  left  us,  as  it  liurried  away  on  its  grand  march 
into  space.  In  1204  a  comet  again  appeared,  wliicli, 
7inliJce  Hamlet's  father,  did  a  (ail  unfold,  covering  more 
than  half  tlie  sky,  or  about  one  hundred  degrees. 
This  comet  disappeared  on  the  2d  of  October,  1264, 
and  the  same  night  Popo  Urban  IV.  died.     Well,  this 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  183 

one  went  like  its  predecessor,  leaving  people  fright- 
ened, and  (they  thought)  a  little  hurt,  for  it  was  sup- 
posed then  that  this  celestial  visitor  had  come  from  the 
limitless  regions  of  the  universe,  through  millions  on 
millions  of  miles,  merely  to  herald  the  old  Pope's 
death.  In  1556  another  comet  was  seen,  with  not 
near  so  much  caudal  appendage,  but  it  came  like  "Old 
Tom  Noddy,  all  head  and  no  body."  The  tail  was 
only  four  degrees  long,  but  the  head  was  very  large 
and  of  a  fiery  red.  This  comet  showed  its  rubicund 
visage  for  a  short  time,  and,  after  scaring  Charles  V. 
from  his  throne,  oif  it  pitched,  streaming  into  space. 
A  rough  estimate  of  the  elements  of  the  august  visitor 
of  1264  being  found  to  coincide  pretty  nearly  with  those 
of  the  red-headed  visitor  of  1556,  it  was  supposed  that 
these  two  were  identical,  and  the  same  also  as  the 
comet  of  975.  Now,  having  found  its  period,  it  was 
calculated  that  the  dreaded  visitor  (whose  room  was  so 
much  better  than  his  company)  would  come  again,  on 
a  flying  visit,  within  two  years  of  1858.  And  as  Dr. 
Cummings  has  decreed  that  the  world  will  end  on  the 
13th  of  .Tunc,  some  are  beginning  to  think  that  this 
old  comet  is  going  to  stop  our  career,  by  incontinently 
pitching  into  us  right  and  left,  and  smashing  the  world 
into  an  infinitude  of  asteroids.  The  French  people 
are,  of  course,  in  great  excitement,  and  very  many,  no 
doubt,  will  be  extremely  disappointed  if,  on  the  14th 
of  June,  the  earth  is  not  knocked  into  an  immense, 
ridiculous  cocked  hat.  But  astronomers  have  calcu- 
lated that  there  are  about  one  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
million  chances  to  one  in  our  favor;  that  is,  that  our 


184  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

pitcher  (metaphorically  speaking)  may  go  to  the  well 
at  lea^^t  one  hundred  and  ninety-nine  million  times 
without  being  broken.  These  comets,  large  as  they 
appear  to  us,  are  to  the  vast  universe  but  as  the  little 
insects  sporting  around  us,  compared  to  the  world 
which  contains  them.  They  are,  too,  Professor  Pierce 
says,  mere  visible  nothings.  It  is  supposed  that  were 
the  earth  to  encounter  a  comet's  tail,  no  particle  of 
the  matter  in  its  composition  would  ever  reach  the 
earth,  but  as  soon  as  it  came  in  contact  with  the  atmo- 
sphere, would  ignite  and  present  an  exhibition  of  fire- 
works such  as  the  world  has  never  seen.  The  head, 
then,  is  the  only  dangerous  part ;  and  it  is  said  that  if 
one  of  these  old  hard-headed  monsters  were  to  butt 
the  Avorld  in  the  short-ribs,  it  would  play  thunder  gene- 
rally. But  it  is  opposed  to  this,  that  the  size  and 
weight  of  the  comet  are  so  small,  in  comparison  with 
the  earth,  that  there  would  be  no  greater  shock  given 
it  than  were  a  fly  to  alight  on  an  elephant's  back. 
Moreover,  "  No  one  shall  know  when  the  Son  of  man 
Cometh."  So  don't  let  Dr.  Cummings  or  the  comet 
scare  you,  but  on  its  first  appearance  hail  it  as  a  grand 
celestial  visitor;  shake  your  fist  at  it  and  say  :  Shake 
not  your  fiery  tail,  and  try  to  scare  me,  for  you  can't 
co7ne-it. 


R  A  I  N  15  0  W  S 


"  This  is  not  a  free  country,  for  we  are  rained  over," 
said  "Ruby"  to  a  most  ])cautiful  lady,  as,  amid  the 
rain-drops  which  fell   thick  and  fast,  they  descended 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  185 

from  Kinsler's  Hall,  after  the  closing  scenes  of  a  com- 
mencement-ball, and  sought  the  always-on-such-occa- 
sions-hard-to-find  carriage.  As  John  Phoenix  says, 
"the  lady  only  remarked,  'te-hee,'"  a  low,  sweet 
sound  of  mirth,  as  the  tinkling  which  a  brooklet  makes 

whenrollingovershining pebbles.  L ,  whohappened 

to  be  a  little  in  front,  overheard  the  remark,  and  loudly 
soliloquized,  "  I  suppose  you  are  a  rain  beau,  then." 
**  Ruby"  faintly  ejaculated,  "Gosh!"  and  thenceforth 
held  his  peace.  But  this  is  not  one  of  the  rainbows 
upon  which  we  intend  to  make  our  homily  this  time. 

'*  When  you  go  in  to  get  soda-water,  next,  be  sure 
and  ask  for  'a  rainbow,' which  is  a  newly-invented 
and  most  'delightfully-flavored  sj^rup.' "  Thus  spoke 
"Ruby"  to  three  youthful  females  who,  enveloped  in 
clouds  of  white  and  pink  and  blue  muslin,  and  fluttei'- 
ing  with  ribbons  of  every  hue  imaginable  or  incon- 
ceivable, and  resembling  rainbows,  were  preparing  for 
their  usual  evening  promenade.  Now,  be  it  known 
that  the  aforesaid  "  rainbow"  is  a  delectable  compound, 
composed  of  strawberry -juice,  cream,  soda-water,  and 
brandy,  with  a  strong  accent  on  the  brandy.  Well, 
having  laid  his  train,  "  Ruby"  went  in  hot  haste  to  the 
"  shotecary  pop,"  to  witness  the  explosion  of  the  mine, 
(having  summoned  Quam  Durus  to  behold  the  scene,) 
and  commenced  examining  soaps,  razors,  perfumes, 
and  almost  every  thing  else  in  the  store,  as  an  excuse 
for  waiting.  Not  long,  however,  did  he  have  to  wait, 
before  the  three  modern  graces  came  in,  rustling  with 
muslin  and  beaming  with  smiles  ;  and  proceeding  to 
the   soda-fountain,  one,   a   dainty,  fair-haired,  rosy- 


186  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

cheeked,  ruby-lipped,  next-thing-to-an-angel,  unfolded 
the  swcitest  little  rosebud  of  a  mouth,  and  asked  for  a 
"rainbow."  The  astonished  clerk  looked  aghast,  also 
inquiringly,  as  if  he  had  not  distinctly  heard  ;  and 
then  another  rosebud  opened  and  repeated  the  demand* 
while  a  third  was  heard  faintly  to  ejaculate,  "bow." 
Looking  over  to  "Ruby,"  the  young  man  received  a 
wink  80  full  of  the  most  intense  significance,  that  his 
eyes  were  opened  spiritually  as  wide  as  they  had  been 
before  physically;  and  with  a  swoet  smile,  indicative 
of  appreciation,  he  concocted  the  beverage.  To  have 
seen  the  expressions  of  surprise,  horror,  and  disgust, 
which  in  rapid  succession  contorted  those  hitherto 
most  serene  and  lovely  features,  would  have  been,  to 
some  men  that  I  wot  of,  suflBcient  compensation  for 
having  lived,  and  good  cause  for  the  chanting  of  Nunc, 
etc.  (I  hope  J.  W.  K.  will  not  grab  me  for  this.) 
Turning  about,  their  eyes  were  directed  Ruby-ward, 
and  that  young  man  received  such  looks  as  he  never 
would  voluntarily  experience  again,  though  the  riches 
of  earth's  treasuries  were  oifered  as  the  bribe.  He 
was  borne  off  in  a  collapsed  condition  by  Quam  Durus, 
and  nothing  was  heard  from  him  more,  except  a  gurg- 
ling, rattling  noise,  as  if  he  were  endeavoring  to  in- 
voke hi"?  l.ivorite,  familiar  "Gosh." 

But  tlies*'  are  not  tlie  rainbows  of  which  I  intended 
to  writi'  to-day.  I  mean  by  rainbow,  one  of  those 
prismatic,  heaven -spanning  signs  of  promise,  gleam- 
ing forth  from  clouds  and  beaming  through  raindrops; 
material  representation  of  the  light  from  heaven;  the 
spiritual  rainbow,  reflecting  the  rays  of  God's  glory 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  187 

and  glowing  with  radiance  caught  from  the  **  Great 
White  Throne,"  and  beaming  on  sorrow's  clouds  and 
gleaming  through  teardrops  ;  the  signal  of  hope,  the 
sign  of  promise,  lighting  the  gloom  of  the  poor  grief- 
laden,  way-worn  wandei'er  of  earth.  After  the  rain, 
the  other  evening,  while  a  thick  dark  cloud  hung  like 
a  funeral  pall  over  the  east,  and  a  gloom  covered  the 
whole  sky,  suddenly  the  sun,  just  before  setting,  broke 
through  the  envelope  of  mists  in  the  west  in  all  his 
golden  glory,  and  just  as  suddenly  a  beautiful  rain- 
bow, standing  out  in  fine  relief  from  its  dark  back- 
ground of  clouds,  overarched  the  eastern  sky.  There 
was  crimson,  orange,  yellow,  green,  blue,  purple,  vio- 
let, indigo,  lavender,  and  I  don't  know  but  you  might 
have  discovered  chocolate,  ashes  of  roses,  and  moire 
antique.  (I  am  not  so  sure  as  to  this  last  being  a 
color;  anyhow,  it  is  some  part  of  a  lady's  vocabulary 
when  she  talks  of  dress.)  And  while  I  gazed  upon  the 
lovely  scene,  completely  enraptured  at  the  sight  of  its 
innumerable  beauties,  my  thoughts  recurred  to  other 
days.  I  had  been  told  by  my  nurse  (among  other  mar- 
vellous fictions  with  which  she  regaled  my  youth,  and 
all  of  which  I  firmly  believed)  that  at  the  end  of  the 
rainbow  there  was  always  a  bag  of  gold,  which  would 
bountifully  reward  the  labors  of  him  who  was  lucky 
enough  to  discover  the  treasure.  So  one  day,  after  a 
shower  which  had  sweetly  cooled  the  summer  air,  and 
left  myriads  of  diamonds  sparkling  amid  the  grass- 
blades,  a  very  diminutive  Ruby  might  have  been  seen 
toddling  off  towards  the  neighboring  forest,  as  fast  as 
two  very  chubby,  knock-kneed  legs  could  carry  his 


188  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

dumpy  corporosity.  The  watchful  nnd  venturous 
young  one  had  escaped  from  the  supervision  of  his 
Ceberus,  (or  Cebera,  as  it  was  a  female,)  and,  accom- 
panied by  an  African  of  about  the  same  size  and  age, 
with  the  lust  for  gold  swelling  his  little  heart,  was  set- 
ting forth  to  seek  the  bag  of  gold,  wliich  he  was  confi- 
dent was  attached  to  the  end  of  a  magnificent  rainbow 
which  was  then  adorning  the  heavens,  and  whose  ter- 
mination he  was  equally  confident  was  to  be  found  in 
the  woods  about  half  a  mile  from  his  home.  On  and 
on  he  went,  penetrating  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
dark  forest,  but  the  farther  he  went,  the  farther  off 
seemed  the  rainbow,  until  finally  it  entirely  disap- 
peared ;  and  wearied  and  frightened  and  sadly  disap- 
pointed, the  poor  child  threw  himself  upon  tlie  ground, 
grieving  bitterly  at  the  frustration  of  his  first  hopes, 
the  destruction  of  his  first  air-castle.  After  a  long 
search,  he  and  his  sable  companion  were  found,  both 
sleeping  sweetly  beneath  an  overlianging  dogwood  tree, 
and  were  conveyed  home,  where  they  had  been  most 
anxiously  awaited  and  expected. 

It  has  not  been  twenty  years  since  then,  and  yet  the 
same  Ruby,  in  some  things,  as  then,  a  very  child,  in 
other  things,  alas !  too  old,  has  seen  many  as  bright- 
hued  visions  as  the  first  all  grow  pale  and  fade  away. 
He  has  seen  as  radiant  rainb  )ws  of  hope,  with  as  gor- 
geous dyes,  and  with  the  same  promises  of  a  bag  of 
gold  at  the  end,  which  treasure  he  has  been  as  confi- 
dent of  securing ;  but  when  he  has  striven  to  reach 
the  end  and  obtain  the  prize,  the  farther  ho  has  gone, 
the  farther  off  has  seemed  the  rainbow,  until  it  has 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  189 

faded  quite  away  and  left  him  wearied  and  sorrowing 
for  the  hours  lost  in  the  search  for  an  ignis  fatuus. 
And  twenty  years  from  now  (if  he  live  so  long)  he  will 
look  back,  and  then,  as  now,  find  that  he  has  sought 
for  fast-fading  treasures,  promised  by  equally  as  intan- 
gible rainbows. 

And  so  we  go  on  from  youth  to  age,  seeking  for  bags 
of  gold  at  the  ends  of  rainbows,  and  at  the  end  of  life 
find  that  we  have  pursued  phantoms,  and,  when  it  is 
too  late,  we  bitterly  bewail  a  misspent  existence. 


**RUB  Y"    ON    GLOVES. 


Gloves  are  good  things.  This  by  way  of  text. 
Now  for  the  expounding.  From  the  earliest  ages  they 
have  been  used  by  all  classes  of  men  for  various  pur- 
poses, but  I  believe  that  all  commentators  and  antiqua- 
ries and  scholiasts  are  agreed  that  their  pi-incipal  use 
is  to  keep  the  hands  warm.  The  deceiving  Jacob 
was  the  first  person  who  wore  kid  gloves,  and  since  his 
time  many  fair  and  gay  deceivers  have  adopted  his 
fashion.  Throwing  down  the  glove  was,  in  ancient 
times,  equivalent  to  a  defiance  to  mortal  combat.  As 
the  glove  was  made  of  steel,  it  has  been  thought  by 
many  that  the  challenger  would  have  acted  more  wisely 
by  throwing  it  at  his  adversary,  and  thus  securing  the 
desired  combat,  and  at  the  same  time  the  advantage  of 
the  first  blow.  It  may  not  be  generally  known  that 
gloves  have  been  used  as  writing  materials,  but  it  is 


190  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

recorded  that  when  some  Maxwell  or  other  was  be- 
sieged in  some  castle  or  other,  and  was  getting  very 
tired  of  his  diet  of  old  boots  and  rats,  he  contrived  to 
get  a  message  to  Sir  William  Wallace,  acquainting 
him  of  his  danger.  That  gallant  hero  being  in  the 
trenches  before  another  castle,  and  ready  to  begin  the 
assault,  took  his  dagger  and  engraved  on  his  brass 
gauntlet,  *'  Revizesco — God  is  with  us,"  and  dispatched 
it  by  mail,  i.  e.,  a  warrior  cl.id  in  armor,  to  tlie  suffer- 
ing Maxwell.  Whether  the  Maxwell  took  courage,  or 
whether  the  English  took  him,  I  do  not  distinctly  re- 
member. 

But  there  is  another  point  of  view  in  whicli  gloves 
may  be  considered.  Take  a  glove,  cut  off  the  g ;  what 
is  left  but  love?  Take  a  glove,  cut  off  the  fingers; 
what  do  you  make  but  a  mitten  ?  So  gloves  may  be 
considered  with  reference  to  their  connection  with  love 
and  courtship,  but  not  with  marriage.  Now  I  can  con- 
ceive of  no  more  delicate  yet  invaluable  gift  from  a 
fair  lady  to  a  gentleman,  than  one  of  her  gloves. 
There  should  be  to  the  favored  recipient  nothing  but 
her,  dearer  or  better.  It  brings  her,  as  it  were,  near 
him,  though  she  be  afar  off;  for  when  he  has  that  me- 
mento of  her,  that  little  glove,  still  beai-ing  the  shape 
of  the  beautiful  hand  which  it  at  once  shielded  and 
adorned,  with  all  the  curious  and  intricate  network  of 
lines  which  nature's  most  delicate  brush  has  pencilled, 
his  imagination  recalls  the  liand,  and  the  arm,  and  the 
polished  shoulders,  and  the  slender  neck,  and  the  fair 
white  breast,  and  the  rounded  form,  so  lithe  and  grace- 
ful in  all  its  proportions,  until  a  glorious  image  dwells 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  191 

■within  the  brightest  chambers  of  fancy's  palace,  and 
he  sees  her,  the  queen  of  his  soul,  in  all  her  radiant 
loveliness,  as  when  beneath  the  starlit  sky  she  said, 
in  softest  tones,  "Remember  me  with  this."  Brave 
knights  have  gone  into  the  battle  with  their  lady's 
glove  upon  their  helmets,  and  under  this  alone  as  their 
crest,  and  animated  by  the  smiles  of  its  fair  donor, 
have  fought  and  died  to  prove  her  fairest  of  the  fair 
in  all  the  land.  And  should  I  ever  be  called  to  join  in 
the  conflicts  of  war,  my  country's  glory  and  my  lady's 
love  would  be  the  greatest  incentives  to  exertion,  and 
in  their  defence  would  death  be  welcome,  and  I  would 
pray  that  my  last  look  might  be  raised  to  our  country's 
flag,  and  last  kiss  might  be  pressed  upon  my  lady's 
glove. 

Yes ;  cut  off  the  g  from  glove,  and  you  have  love. 
But  when  you  cut  the  fingers  from  a  glove — beware,  0 
young  man,  how  you  attempt  it ! — you  make  a  mitten  ; 
and  however  pleasant  it  may  be  to  receive  the  whole 
glove,  and  however  much  you  may  regard  it  as  the  evi- 
dence of  the  lady's  favor,  it  is  a  different  thing  when 
you  are  the  unhappy  recipient  of  the  dismembered 
trunk. 

The  phrase,  "  giving  the  mitten,"  took  its  rise  after 
this  wise,  Clotilda,  thirteenth  daughter  of  Sigismund 
Bosphagus,  was  importuned  by  Dontuwish  Umagetit, 
a  Russian,  who  had  by  chance  found  his  way  to  her 
father's  kingdom,  and  on  account  of  some  valorous 
deeds  had  been  knighted,  that  he  might  claim  her  as 
his  lady-love,  and  wear  her  colors  and  gain  her  hand. 
Now  D.  was  hard-favored,  having  had  the  lower  part 


192  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

of  his  ears  bitten  off  by  the  frost,  which  had  also  con- 
ferred upon  him  a  most  curious  expression  of  his  nose. 
His  eyes  were  crossed  in  different  directions,  while  a 
sabre-scar  had  made  a  hole  in  his  cheek,  through 
which  his  teeth  were  very  visible.  These  various  dis- 
figurements, of  course,  were  not  very  valuable  adjuncts 
to  his  suit,  and  his  manners  were  rough  and  coarse, 
having  been  more  accustomed  to  the  society  of  rude 
men  at  arms  in  drinking-bootlis  than  to  the  more  re- 
fined manners  suitable  to  a  lady's  bower.  But  worse 
than  this,  than  these,  than  all,  she  loved  the  gentle 
niinsfrel,  Guillaume  de  Gautblanc.  Now  Clotilda  feared 
to  give  him  an  abrupt  refusal,  lest  she  might  enrage 
her  father,  and  provoke  him  to  send  her  to  a  nun- 
nery to  pine  away  and  die,  and  commit  Guillaume 
to  a  monkery,  or  worse ;  so  she  contrived  an  expedient 
(as  any  other  woman  could  and  would  have  done  in 
like  circumstances)  whereby  she  might  free  herself 
from  her  odious  lover,  and  yet  not  incur  her  father's 
displeasure.  She  gave  the  knight  a  golden  snuff-box, 
telling  him  that  it  contained  her  riding-glove,  and  when 
he  brought  her  that  glove  filled  with  sand  from  the 
shores  of  the  Jordan,  she  would  marry  him.  The 
knight  started  off  overjoyed,  thinking  that  in  a  few 
months  he  might  be  the  proud  lord  of  the  loveliest  lady 
in  the  land.  lie  passed  through  many  toils,  dangers, 
and  wanderings,  until  he  reached  the  shores  of  the 
sacred  stream.  Not  waiting  a  moment  for  repose,  he 
rushed  to  the  shore,  scraped  up  the  sand,  drew  the  box 
from  his  bosom,  where  it  had  been  carefully  kept, 
opened  the  clasp,  drew  forth  the  glove,  and — found  it 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  193 

a  mitten.  Overcome  with  chagrin  and  rage,  he  plunged 
into  the  waves,  and  his  corpse  was  carried  to  its  proper 
place,  the  Dead  Sea. 

Women  have  not  changed  much  since  that  day,  and 
their  artifices  are  as  many  and  as  ingenious  as  then, 
as  many  a  man  has  found  to  his  cost.  Then  0  !  puer 
gracilis  ingenueque,  be  warned  in  time,  and  let  the  warn- 
ing make  you  cautious,  lest  some  time  after  long  and 
anxious  loving,  after  sunset  rides  and  moonlight  walks, 
after  serenades  and  presented  bouquets  of  rarest  flowers  ; 
after  hand-pressings  and  heart  throbbings,  and  after 
sweetest  smiles  and  softest  whisperings,  when  you 
proudly  and  gladly  felicitate  yourself  upon  having 
gained  the  priceless  boon  of  your  lady's  love,  and  re- 
joice in  the  possession  of  the  great  treasure  of  your 
"lady's  heart,  0,  beware,  lest  when  you  go  to  kiss  the 
glove,  you  find  it  the  mitten  ! 

We  have  considered  gloves  with  the  g  cut  off,  in 
their  relation  to  love,  and  gloves  with  the  fingers  cut 
off  in  their  relation  to  courtship  ;  and  this  is  as  far  as 
we  can  ;  for  when  we  come  to  marriage,  we  have  done 
with  gloves.  Then  a  man  has  the  hand,  and,  of  course, 
is  done  with  the  glove.  Then  all  the  sentiment  which 
belonged  to  the  hand  when  covered  in  its  glove,  is  lost 
in  the  possession  of  the  naked  reality.  Yes,  marriage 
disperses  the  romance  of  love ;  but  as  I  have  not  yet 
arrived  at  that  settled,  real  condition,  it  must  be  par- 
doned me  if  I  indulge  largely  in  the  romance ;  and 
I'll  tell  you  about  some  gloves  that  lie  here  before  me, 
taken  from  my  desk  this  cold  Saturday  evening,  when, 
my  week's  work  being  finished,  I  am  at  liberty  to  re- 


194  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

tire  vrithin  myself  and  visit  the  realms  of  memory, 
borne  in  the  car  of  revery.  Here  are  a  pair  which 
were  once  as  white  as  the  snow  on  Zembla's  shore,  but 
now  they  are  growing  dingy  and  yellow,  for  I  have  kept 
them  long.  Faintly  to  be  seen,  is  traced  upon  them, 
"  G^,  Alexandre."  How  well  do  I  remember  the  evening 
when,  by  a  half-given,  half-refused  consent,  they  be- 
came my  prize.      The  gay  and  lovely  of  tJie   elite  of 

C were  there  collected ;  but  among  them  all,  she 

who  gave  them  was  the  peerless  queen.  And  in  them 
there  is  a  talismanic  influence;  for  when  I  look  upon 
them,  I  think  of  her  whose  soul  is  purity  itself,  and 
from  whose  lustrous  eyes  beam  forth  the  rays  of  truth's 
lamp,  which  burns  brightly  in  her  heart  of  hearts  ;  and 
while  her  image  is  before  me,  all  wrong  thoughts  and 
evil  actions  and  deceiving  tempters  are  driven  away. 
But  let  us  place  them  away  carefully,  as  we  would 
relics  in  a  shrine,  for  to  me  they  are  sacred,  and  take 
up  others. 

Ah!  here  is  one,  6.},  with  a  delicate  fringe  around 
the  wrist,  made  of  rich  lace.  This  carries  me  back  to 
a  crowded  hall,  and  shining  lights,  and  perfumed  air, 
and  flashing  diamonds,  and  swelling  music,  and  volup- 
tuous waltzes.  0,  it  was  a  gay  scene !  There  were 
lords  and  ladies  there  in  the  rich  garb  of  other  days. 
There  were  fairies  there,  and  fair  sultanas,  and 
fast  flew  the  hours  on  hastening  wings.  But  fairies 
were  not  more  fair,  sultanas  were  not  more  lovely, 
than  was  the  white-robed  maiden  who  gave  me  this 
remembrancer.  But,  alas!  she  is  another's  now ;  and 
so  into  the  fire  it  goes,  for  I  have  no  right  to  keep  it 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  195 

now  ;  for  the  hand  is  another's  ;  why  should  I  cherish 
the  glove  ? 

See !  here  is  one,  a  6i,  a  little  torn,  and  thus 
it  happened :  There  had  been  a  large  party,  and 
at  its  close  "Ruby"  had  the  great  privilege  of  escort- 
ing one  of  the  belles  of  the  evening  to  her  home.  As 
they  proceeded,  the  cunning  youth  commenced  speak- 
ing of  the  "Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table,"  and  his 
walk  with  the  Schoolmistress,  where  the  "Autocrat" 
asks  her  to  take  the  long  path  with  him.  Just  as  he 
got  to  this  part  of  the  story,  they  came  to  a  corner,  by 
turning  which  the  path  would  be  shortened;  then, 
"Ruby"  bending  low,  whispered,  "Will  you  take  the 
long  path  with  me?"  The  maiden  softly  answered, 
"Ask  my  pa."  "Whether  he  did  or  not,  deponent  saith 
not.  The  glove  is  supposed  to  have  been  torn  in  her 
excessive  agitation. 

But  here  is  a  yellow  glove,  the  smallest  of  them  all ; 
so  small  that  the  manufacturer  would  not  mark  it,  fear- 
ing lest  his  veracity  might  be  doubted.  And  this  the 
little  beauty  from  the  South  once  threw  at  me,  when  I 
asked  for  it.  I  threw  it  back  at  her,  but  when  she 
wasn't  looking,  picked  it  up  again  ;  and  if  she  were  to 

throw  herself  at  me,  I   would well,  never   mind 

what  I  would  do. 

But  last  of  all  is  this  one,  beautifully  white,  for  it 
is  not  yet  old  ;  and  here  is  well  delineated  all  that 
network  of  lines  of  the  hand,  of  which  I  have  before 
spoken. 

Now  listen  to  "Ruby,"  the  gipsy,  telling  fortunes. 
This  line  betokens  that  she  will  have  pleasure  for  a 


196  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

short  season,  but  sorrow  and  disappointment  will  soon 
follow.  This  line  shows  that  she  is  fickle  and  change- 
able as  the  wind.  This  line  shows  that  she  is  vain, 
and  too  eager  for  admiration.  All  these  lines  joining 
show  that  she  is  a  coquette  and  a  flirt,  and  that  her 
pleasures  will  be  shortlived,  and  be  succeeded  by  a 
cheerless  old  ago,  rendered  sorrowful  and  gloomy  by 
reason  of  disappointment.  But  there  is  a  jewel  which 
some  one  will  give  her,  if  she  will  only  receive  it,  and 
this,  with  its  ruif/-liglit,  will  dispel  all  the  clouds  which 
now  darken  her  destiny.  There,  the  fortune  is  told ; 
the  oracle  ceases. 

You  may  ask  if  I  have  mittens  preserved.  I  make  it 
a  rule  never  to  answer  impertinent  questions,  and  what 
I  have  or  have  not  "is  nothin'  to  nobody."  And  now 
we  will  close  this  dissertation  by  repeating  and  singing 
(if  you  please)  the  following  lame  lines  about 

THE      LITTLE      WHITE      GLOVE. 

There's  a  little  white  glove 

Which  I  wear  next  my  heart ; 
And  diamonds  could  never 

Induce  me  to  part 
AVitli  this  little  white  glove, 
Which  belongs  to  my  Love. 

'T  is  the  little  white  glove 

Of  the  queen  of  my  soul ; 
And  of  a  liard  race, 

With  her  love  as  the  goal, 
Tells  this  little  white  glove, 
Which  belongs  to  my  Love. 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  197 

Now  this  little  white  glove 

Bears  the  form  of  a  hand ; 
'Tis  the  hand  of  the  fairest 

And  best  in  the  land  ; 
Yes,  this  little  white  glove, 
Which  belongs  to  my  Love. 

And  could  I  but  call 

That  little  hand  mine, 
Death  only  could  make  me 

Prepare  to  resign 
That  hand,  and  this  glove, 
Which  belongs  to  my  Love. 


«'RUB  Y"    AT    SCHOOL. 

Well,  well! 

"  Nunquam  homini  satis 
Cautum  est  in  horas;"- 

and  here  Ruby  goes,  limping  and  hobbling,  even  as  a 
ame  goose  or  a  pai-alytic  duck,  a  muscovy,  for  in- 
stance ;  not  one  of  those  curly-tailed,  green-and-gold- 
necked  fellows  who  are  so  kindly  and  pressingly  invited 
to  offer  themselves  as  voluntary  sacrificial  victims  to 
the  Lares  and  Penates  of  the  kitchen  hearth,  in  the 
famous  song, 

"Dilly,  dilly  duck,  come  and  be  killed." 

No  ;  he  is  not  one  of  that  kind,  though  he  came  very 
near  going  and  being  killed ;  and  if  Amelia  Jane  will 


198  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

call  him  her  duck,  it  must  be  her  lame  duck.  You  sec 
his  steed  is  a  very  spirited  "enimel,"  having  a  great 
many  natural  and  sfu(f-\cd  graces ;  and  last  Sunday 
said  steed,  being  anxious  to  get  away  from  "meetin'," 
jumped  off  before  Ruby  could  jump  on,  and  the  con- 
sequence was, 

One  leg  was  in  the  stirrup  placed, 
And  one  gyrating  wildly; 

(Lord  Ulliti's  Daughter  modified ;) 

until  with  one  mighty  effort  the  horse  cleared  a  large 
log,  but  Ruby  didn't.  A  small  "snag"  upon  said  log, 
being  of  an  inquisitive  turn,  insinuated  itself  beneath 
his  ribs ;  and  so  Ruby  was  thrown  horse  du  combat, 
and  has  a  little  leisure  to  write  to  the  Enquirer,  and 
enquire^ er  how  she  feels  since  the  conclusion  of  that 
Star-tale-ing  story.  One  great  comfort  to  him  in  his 
affliction  is,  that  the  schoolboys  will  have  cause  for  re- 
joicing, and  verify  the  old  proverb,  tliat  "it  is  an  ill 
wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good."  If  there  be  any 
one  curious  on  the  subject  of  rainbows,  he  may  call 
upon  Ruby,  who  will  completely  gratify  his  curiosity 
by  exhibiting  in  "  propria  persona"  all  the  prismatic 
colors,  and  a  great  many  others,  which  Sir  Isaac  New- 
ton never  dreamed  of. 

Did  you  know  that  Ruby  had  become  a  saint?  It's 
a  fact,  strange  as  it  may  st>em.  Now  he  was  not  canon- 
ized, like  St,  George  WasliinEjton  was  at  the  battle  of 
Princeton,  nor  yet  by  any  Pontifical  bull,  though  he 
came  very  near  being  exalte<l  on  the  liorns  of  neighbor 
Jackson's  bull.     I  do  not  think  that  his  relics  are  re- 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  199 

vered  with  any  particular  veneration,  except  by  the 
crows,  who  religiously  avoid  approaching  the  corn, 
where  his  old  coat,  elevated  on  a  pole,  flutters  its 
ragged  tails  protectingly.  The  only  miracle  he  has 
performed  was  to  borrow  a  quarter  from  the  Thug, 
who  had  never  before  been  known  to  lend  a  dime,  or 
even  to  have  one  to  lend.  Nevertheless,  he  has  been 
translated — not  to  heaven,  by  any  manner  of  means — 
but  to  dwell  among  the  St.  Andrews,  and  St.  Helenas, 
and  St.  Georges,  and  St.  Luke'',  and  St.  Bartholomews, 
and  St.  James  Goose  Creeks,  and  all  the  rest.  Yes ; 
he  is  "one  of  them  Parishers,"  as  he  heard  an  up- 
countr}'^  brother  remark ;  and  he  is  at  his  old  voca- 
tion— instructing  youth  in  the  science  of  nitro-sul- 
phuric  projectiles ;  in  other  words,  teaching  the  young 
idea  how  to  shoot;  an  occupation  admirably  adapted 
to  sweeten  the  temper  and  develop  the  quality  of  pa- 
tience, but  one  not  very  strongly  spiced  with  variety. 
And  here  his  time  is  occupied  in  reading,  writing, 
teaching,  and  learning.  Of  course  he  eats  and  sleeps 
sometimes,  not  being  exempt  from  all  mortal  weak- 
nesses ;  but  he  performs  these  acts  more  from  respect 
to  the  customs  and  opinions  of  society  than  from  ne- 
cessity. 

He  is  teaching  a  little  and  learning  much.  Nature 
is  his  kind  instructress,  and  he  reads  in  her  great 
book,  a  gorgeously-illuminated  volume  whose  every 
page  is  enriched  with  most  beautiful  illustrations.  He 
sees  a  dewdrop,  and,  reasoning  as  to  its  origin,  infers 
the  whole  theory  of  vaporization.  He  poes  the  little 
shining  drop  resting  on   the   grass,  like   a   diamond 


200  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

dropped  by  an  empress  on  the  green  velvet  carpet  of  her 
throne.  As  the  sun  rises,  the  dew  dissolves  and  floats 
away  to  the  heavens  on  the  viewless  wings  of  a  sun- 
beam. There  the  vapor  from  myriads  of  dewdrops, 
and  from  oceans  and  seas  and  rivers  and  lakes,  floats 
along  in  pearly  clouds,  until  their  weight  increasing 
by  means  of  condensation,  they  feel  the  attraction  of 
gravitation.  Then  first  a  little  watery  particle  breaks 
loose  and  commences  its  descent ;  as  it  hurries  down, 
its  coolinp:  influence  condenses  others,  which  hasten  to 
join  it,  and,  cohering  together,  form  a  sparkling  sphere, 
which  reaches  the  earth  a  beautiful  raindrop,  the  har- 
binger of  a  refreshing  shower.  Having  performed  its 
earthly  mission,  it  again  is  drawn  to  the  skies,  and 
the  process  goes  on  ad  infinitum.  And  the  little  glo- 
bule glistening  on  the  violet's  breast  may  have  been 
borne  up  from  Capernaum's  sea,  or  may  once,  a  float- 
ing sDOwflake,  have  rested  on  the  crown  of  the  monarch 
of  mountains. 

He  looks  forth  when  night  has  overspread  her  star- 
jewelled  veil,  and  sees  the  moon  obedient  to  the  great 
law  of  gravitation,  revolving  around  the  earth,  which, 
with  its  sister  planets  and  their  satellites,  performs  its 
course  around  the  sun,  who,  with  his  brother  suns  and 
their  planetary  systems,  is  journeying  on,  marching  in 
the  grand  procession  around  some  central  source  where 
the  Great  Magnet  is  placed,  where  the  Source  of  all 
attraction  is  centred.  And  here  his  reason  and  ima- 
gination fail  him,  and  his  mind,  after  its  fai-thest  reach, 
sinks  back  upon  itself  wcarieil ;  and  overcome  with 
the  awful  grandeur  of  even  the  conception  of  the  Great 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  201 

First  Cause,  he  bows  his  head  and  veils  his  eyes  and 
cries:  "What  is  man,  that  Thou  art  mindful  of  him, 
or  the  son  of  man,  that  Thou  visitest  him?" 

And  sometimes  Ruby  walks  through  the  solemn 
forests  —  nature's  sanctuary  —  where  the  long-leafed 
pines  rear  their  tall  and  graceful  stems  and  interweave 
their  spreading  branches,  forming  emerald  arches  over- 
head, and  making  aisles  and  columns  and  architraves 
and  domes  finer  and  grander  than  Michael  the  Angel* 
ever  reared.  There  he  hears  the  music  of  the  wind- 
harp,  sighing  and  soughing  through  the  trees,  more 
glorious  far  than  any  organ's  notes,  pealing  through 
minster's  fretted  vaults. 

Yes,  he  studies  earnestly  in  nature's  book,  and  prays 
to  learn  to  "look  through  nature  up  to  nature's  God." 
And  he  learns  much ;  for  he  has  learned  how  little  he 
knows,  and  has  been  taught  to 

"  Wait  the  great  Teacher,  Death,  and  God  adore." 


SIGHT-SEEING. 


As  I  have  conscientious  scruples  about  attending  all 
manner  of  theatrical  exhibitions,  and  shows  of  a  like 
character,  and  am  therefore  deprived  of  much  sight- 
seeing, it  was  with  particularly  pleasant  emotions  that 
I  perused  the  tasteful  handbill  which  during  the  last 
week  was  placed  in  my  hands,  which  bill  announced, 
"A  grand  exhibition  of  Illuminated  Paintings,  com- 

■"  Michael  Angelo:  Anglioc,  Michael  the  Angol. 
7 


202  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

prising  over  one  hundred  different  views,  unparalleled 
in  beauty  and  coloring."  These  beautiful  works  of 
art,  "exceeding  in  merit  any  the  world  lm>-  ever  be- 
held," were  to  be  exhibited  at  Temperance  Hall,  June 
27,  1857,  and  for  that  night  only.  Thinking  it  too 
good  a  chance  of  seeing  a  little  pious  pleasure  to  be 
lightly  passed  over,  I  forthwith  assailed  Mr.  G.  with  a 
request  (lie  calls  it  a  command)  that  he  would  take  mo 
and  at  least  seventeen  of  our  nineteen  children  (all  of 
them  girls,  and  the  dearest,  sweetest  creatures  in  the 
world;  Jane,  for  instance,  is  qualified  in  every  respect 
to  make  any  man  happy ;  but  I  fear  lest  my  maternal 
pride  may  carry  me  away  so  I  cannot,  as  I  would  like, 
describe  them  all;  but  there  is  Carry — well,  never 
mind) — to  see  the  show.  Mr.  G.,  as  usual,  (the  horrid, 
stingy  brute,)  objected,  saying  that  it  would  cost  about 
six  dollars,  and  that  he  did  not  think  it  would  pay. 
Tlien  I  showed  him  the  programme,  and  told  him  Mr, 
Fifer  said  that  the  pictures  were  to  be  illuminated  by 
the  light  of  other  days.  I  also  presented  to  him  in  a 
forcible  manner  the  great  benefits  which  the  children 
would  receive  by  having  the  scenes  from  scriptural 
history  impressed  upon  their  minds  by  the  means  of 
the  illuminated  paintings,  exceeding  in  merit  any  the 
world  has  over  beheld.  I  told  him  that  our  minister 
approved  of  the  exhibition,  and  wound  up  by  giving 
him  a  piece  of  my  mind  concerning  laziness,  meanuL-ss, 
and  general  neglect  of  family.  This  had  the  effect  of 
extorting  from  him  a  i)romi8C  to  take  us;  and  as  we 
hurrieil  off  to  fix,  I  heard  him  muttering,  *'Any  thing 
fur  peace." 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  208 

Well,  we  went  to  Temperance  Hall,  where  we 
found  every  thing  in  darkness.  After  waiting  a 
Avhile,  a  curtain  was  drawn,  and  we  beheld  a  ground 
plan  of  Jerusalem,  which  was  beautiful.  Mr.  Fifer 
said  that  the  artist  **had  run  it  into  the  ground." 
I  didn't  know  what  he  meant,  but  suppose  that  it  was 
a  complimentary  expression.  Then  came  a  western 
view  of  the  city — Mr.  Fifer  said  it  was  painted  by  a 
Hoosier  —  then  an  eastern  view;  then  a  "familiar 
view;"  then  Jehoshaphat.  Mr.  Fifer  exclaimed, 
"  Great  Jehoshaphat !"  Then  the  three  Fools  of  Solo- 
mon. Mr.  F.  said  that  they  had  larger  pools  at  the 
great  race,  last  week,  in  New  York.  And  last  of  this 
division  of  illuminated  painting  came  Jordan,  with 
most  beautiful  scenery  on  the  banks.  It  did  look  very 
cool  and  nice.  Mr.  F.  said  if  it  was  a  good  picture 
Jordan  must  be  a  hard  road  to  travel.  When  the  polite 
and  gentlemanly  lecturer  called  our  attention  to  Adam 
and  Eve,  driven  forth  from  Paradise  in  fig  leaves,  one 
gentleman  said  that  they  looked  like  they  had  been  out 
a  long  time.  Mr.  Fifer  said  that  if  Paradise  looked 
like  that,  it  would  not  take  much  driving  to  get  him 
out,  /  did  not  look  at  this  scene.  After  this,  we  saw 
Abraham  oflFering  Isaac,  and  a  very  vicious-looking 
ram  in  the  background.  Mr.  X.  asked  Mr.  Fifer  if  it 
was  a  hydraulic  ram.  Mr.  F.  responded,  "Yes;  as  it 
is  drawn  in  water-colors."  Then  came  Pvcbecca  at  the 
well,  the  well  looking  any  thing  but  well ;  likewise 
Rebecca.  Next  we  saw  a  picture  of  "Joseph  sold  into 
Egypt."  This  was  so  admirably  depicted  as  to  draw 
tears  from  eleven  of  my  darlings.     I  know  this,  be- 


204  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

cause  the  holes  were  in  their  frocks  when  we  got  home. 
Mr.  Fifer  said  Joseph  wasn't  the  on!}'  person  there 
who  was  sold.  Then  came  the  return  of  the  spies,  who 
had  a  very  nice  bunch  of  grapes,  considering.  Mr.  F. 
persisted  in  telling  Jane  their  names  were  Jericho  and 
Deuteronomy.  Then  came  the  Brazen  Serpent.  Mr. 
F,  said  that  a  j'oung  woman  who  was  looking  up  to  it 
looked  a  great  deal  more  brazen  than  the  snake.  Then 
came  "Balaam  and  his  ass."  Mr.  F.  remarked  that 
the  original  of  the  picture  of  the  animal  was  engaged 
to  go  around  with  the  exhibition  as  lecturer.  Then 
came  a  most  awful  scene  of  the  slaying  of  Goliath  by 
David.  It  was  a  very  hard  fight  indeed.  Goliath 
seemed  to  die  hard.  And  there  was  the  beautiful 
young  David,  sitting  on  him  and  gouging  him  with  his 
left  hand,  while  his  right  hand  was  engaged  in  pound- 
ing him  most  lustily.  And  next  we  saw  David  dancing 
before  the  ark.  Mr.  F.  said  that  he  was  dancing  the 
Grape-Vine  Twist.  I  do  not  think  this  picture  was  at 
all  correct,  as  the  ark  here  was  not  a  bit  like  Noah's, 
which  was  shown  to  us  afterwards,  with  all  the  ani- 
mals going  in  just  as  easy  and  natural  as  can  be. 
When  I  saw  the  cow,  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  our 
Pidy,  which  gives  fourteen  quarts  a  day  of  the  nicest 
milk  you  ever  saw.  But  I  must  hurry  on,  so  as  to 
complete  my  talk.  We  saw  the  Rhine,  with  the  gon- 
dolas floating  serenely  upon  its  surface.  Mr.  Fifer 
eaid  that  "  that  Rhine  ought  to  be  peeled  off  the  can- 
vas." We  saw — Moses  knows  Avhat  all!  There  was  an 
Inebriate's  Progress,  and  an  Avalanche,  but  as  I  could 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  205 

not  distinguish  the  one  from  the  other,  I  am  unable  to 
describe  them. 

After  the  scenes  promised  in  the  programme  were 
all  exhausted,  the  gentlemanly  and  obliging  proprietor 
very  generously  and  kindly  proposed  to  exhibit  others 
for  our  gratification,  and  this  was  to  be  done  gratui- 
tously. He  then  showed  us  some  highly  comic  per- 
formances, consisting  of  depicted  nightmares,  and 
flexible  noses,  built  upon  the  extension  plan,  all  con- 
cluding with  a  grand  patriotic  picture  representing 
the  Father  of  his  Country,  looking  very  much  ashamed 
of  being  in  such  disreputable  company.  We  all  left 
very  much  delighted,  having  been  greatly  benefitted, 
I  hope.  If  he  comes  again,  I  mean  the  showman,  I 
will  go  and  take  the  other  two. 

Yours,  much  delightedly, 

Mes.  Placidia  Gammon. 

P.  S. — Mr.  Fifer  says  that  he  is  happy  too,  for  he 
gave  the  show-fellow  a  three-dollar  counterfeit  bill, 
which  had  been  for  a  long  time  impassable,  and  so  got 
paid  two  dollars  and  a  half  for  going. 

Mes.  p.  G. 


HOW    "RUBY"    CAUGHT    HER. 


My  friend  Jack  and  I  went  to  the  opera.  Now, 
when  Jack  goes  to  any  such  place,  he  goes  because  it's 
**  the  thing"  to  go  there.  He  can't  tell  the  Drinking 
Song  in  Lucrezia  from  the  Dead  March  in  Saul.  Ne- 
vertheless, he  goes.     I  don't  believe  that  he  knows  the 


206  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

diflFerence  between  Yankee  Doodle  and  Old  Hundred. 
Nevertheless,  he  goes  to  every  opera,  and  concert,  and 
matinee  musicale;  and  as  it  is  "the  thing,"  is  a  great 
connoiseur.  He  has  picked  up  a  few  technical  terms, 
and  can  converse  very  learnedly  about  sopranos  and 
baritones,  and  basso  profundos,  and  arias,  and  trios, 
and  all  that  sort  o'  thing.  He  always  goes  to  the  ope- 
ra in  a  dress  coat,  with  an  irreproachable  and  unap- 
proachable neck-tie,  and  immaculate  gloves.  And  as 
to  lorgnettes — if  you  could  only  see  Jack's — well,  he 
would  as  soon  go  to  sea  without  a  boat  as  to  go  to  the 
opera  without  his  lorgnettes.  Jack  has  a  hat — a  most 
miraculous  tile  it  is — which  he  keeps  expressly  for 
such  occasions,  and  calls  his  opera  hat.  We  came  very 
near  fighting  once  because  I  wore  it  on  a  fishing  ex- 
cursion. It  is  made  with  springs,  so  that,  being  press- 
ed on  the  crown,  it  collapses  in  a  very  startling  man- 
ner. Now,  "Ruby"  being  an  indigent  Bohemian,  is 
glad  to  get  to  the  opera  under  any  circumstances.  He 
wears  a  dress  coat,  if  he  has  one ;  if  not,  he  pins  up 
the  tails  of  his  frock  coat,  so  as  to  come  the  swallow- 
tail dodge.  He  wears  one  light-colored  glove,  carry- 
ing the  other  negligently  in  his  hand — thus  making  a 
pair  of  gloves  go  twice  as  far  as  they  would  if  both 
were  worn  at  the  same  time.  His  old  black  velvet  cap 
serves  him  for  opera  hat,  smoking  cap,  hunting  cap, 
and  dress  hat.  When  he  wishes  to  use  a  lorgnette,  he 
doubles  his  fist  and  squints  through  the  cavity. 

Well,  as  I  said  before,  my  friend  Jack  and  I  went  to 
the  opera — he  with  his  "Gibbous,"  and  I  with  my  old 
velvet.     There  were  no  private  boxes,  or  stage-boxes, 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  207 

or  any  thing  of  the  sort ;  for  it  was  not  a  regular  ope- 
ra house,  but  a  hall  used  for  all  public  exhibitions. 
The  seats  were  arm-chairs,  placed  in  rows,  twenty  in  a 
row,  and  near  together.  We  had  not  been  seated  long 
before  the  overture  commenced,  and  the  seats  were  ra- 
pidly filled.  There  came  into  the  row  immediately  be- 
hind us  a  party  of  ladies  escorted  by  one  gentleman. 
After  they  took  their  seats,  I  noticed  that  Jack  recon- 
noitered  the  house  generally,  and  the  party  in  our  rear 
particularly,  through  his  lorgnette.  I  proceeded  to  do 
likewise  through  my  fist.  For  this  proceeding  Jack 
reproved  me,  and  the  lady  immediately  behind  giggled 
at  me.  I  noticed  that  she  was  black-haired,  bright- 
eyed,  and  beautiful ;  and  seemed,  withal,  merry  and 
mischievous. 

Well,  the  curtain  rose,  and  II  Trovatore  commenced. 
I  listened  a  while,  but  soon  grew  tired ;  for  the  music 
was  poor,  the  singing  was  bad,  the  acting  was  execra- 
ble, and  the  scenery  contemptible.  I  was  leaning  with 
my  arm  hanging  down  over  the  back  of  my  chair,  hold- 
ing my  old  cap  in  my  hand,  almost  touching  the  floor. 
I  felt  something  tugging  at  my  cap.  I  raised  it  a  lit- 
tle, and  the  pulling  stopped.  Directly  I  felt  it  again. 
I  looked  down  and  saw  a  beautiful  ankle  in  a  flesh- 
colored  silk  stocking;  and  said  ankle  was  working  vi- 
gorously. Its  upper  extension  was  hidden  under  a 
cloud  of  points  and  lace,  and  I  don't  know  what  all 
else  ;  and  its  lower  continuation  was  buried  in  my  cap. 
Thinks  I  to  myself,  thinks  I,  *'Aha!  you're  caught,  are 
you,  and  nicely  too !"  With  a  very  stolid  and  inte- 
rested look,  I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  stage,  until  I 


208  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

felt  the  tugging  going  on  again ;  and  then,  with  a  sud- 
den clamp,  I  closed  the  cap  together  and  caught  the 
little  foot  as  nicely  as  ever  a  mouse-trap  did  a  mouse. 

I  heard  a  half-uttered  "Oh!"  behind  me,  but  did 
not  move  my  eyes  from  the  stage.  Directly  I  began  to 
raise  my  arm,  still  holding  tight  to  the  cap.  I  thought 
I  heard  a  titter,  and  looking  around,  as  if  disturbed 
by  the  noise,  saw  the  owner  of  my  little  prisoner  with 
her  face  buried  in  her  handkerchief,  and  laughing 
most  violently.  Thinks  I  to  myself,  thinks  I,  "You're 
a  good  'un;"  so  I  lowered  my  ai-m  and  looked  again 
toward  the  stage.  Every  now  and  then  I  would  feel  a 
strenuous  tug,  but  I  only  had  to  raise  my  arm  and  all 
was  still ;  but  I  could  feel  the  little  foot  trembling  like 
a  captured  bird.  While  they  were  preparing  for  the 
ballet,  I  asked  my  friend  Jack,  who  had  all  the  time 
sat  bolt  upright,  fearing  to  rumple  his  collar  or  disar- 
range his  black  hair,  and  staring  intently  through  his 
glasses,  who  the  lady  was  who  sat  just  behind  me. 
"Aw,  she's  a  Madame  Leoline  V.,  a  rich  young  widow, 
a  Creole  from  New  Orleans,"  Making  this  response, 
my  friend  Jack  once  more  betook  himself  to  his  opera- 
glass.  From  the  way  I  held  my  cap,  my  hand  would 
occasionally  touch  that  round,  slim  ankle,  and  I  would 
feel  a  thrill  responsive  to  the  one  which  would  shoot 
through  my  whole  nervous  system.  There  was  such 
an  overflowing  abundance  of  crinoline,  and  silk,  and 
muslin,  and  all  that  sort  o'  thing,  that  all  this  interest- 
ing by-play  was  entirely  unknown  and  unseen  by  any 
one,  except  the  two  actors  engaged  in  it.  When  the 
ballet  girls  came  on  the  stage,  there  was  the  usual  libe- 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  209 

ral  display  of  arms  and  feet,  and  anMes,  and  ankles 
continued;  but  none  were  beautiful  or  attractive  enough 
to  draw  off  my  attention  from  my  little  prisoner.  I 
had  rested  my  cap  on  the  lowest  bar  of  my  chair,  so 
that  the  imprisonment  would  not  prove  painful,  how- 
ever irksome  it  might  be ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  cap- 
tive had  become  resigned  to  its  fate,  for  the  struggles 
ceased.  My  friend  Jack  turned  to  me  as  the  ballet 
concluded  with  an  overwhelming  pirouette  on  the  part 
of  the  favorite  danseuse.  ** — foine !  beautiful  foot 
that,  eh?"  I  answered,  "Supple-ended."  This  satis- 
fied Jack,  and  he  resumed  his  lorgnette. 

When  the  opera  closed,  I  sat  very  quietly.  Directly 
I  felt  a  most  vigorous  pull.  I  sat  motionless.  Soon  I 
felt  a  warm  breath  on  my  cheek,  and  heard  a  whisper 
in  my  ear:  "If  you're  done  with  my  foot,  I'd -like  to 
have  it."  "  What  will  you  give  for  it  ?"  said  I.  *'  My 
card,"  was  the  answer.  Upon  this  I  nodded  and 
opened  the  cap ;  but  notwithstanding  all  her  efforts, 
the  foot  could  not  get  loose.  I  assisted.  I  found  that 
the  heel  of  the  slipper  had  got  fastened  in  the  torn 
lining  of  the  old  cap.  After  some  delay,  I  released  it, 
and  for  a  moment  it  lay  motionless  in  my  hand.  And 
such  a  foot !  0,  Titania !  thine  must  have  been 
broader.  0,  Cinderella !  thine  must  have  been  longer. 
In  my  wildest  dreams  of  beauty  I  never  had  imagined 
such  a  foot.  The  daughter  of  the  Celestial  Emperor, 
the  brother  of  the  sun,  the  cousin  of  the  moon,  and 
the  uncle  of  the  stars,  never  had  a  smaller  foot ;  and 
nobody  under  the  sun  ever  had  one  of  finer  form.  It 
was  delicately  curved  and  arched  at  the  instep,  and 


210  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

gleamed  like  pearl  beneath  rose-colored  waters  through 
the  open  work  of  the  stocking.  And  think  of  it! — 
think  of  it ! — picture  it!  The  slipper — the  casket 
which  enshrined  this  pearl — was  of  purple  velvet.  As 
I  yielded  up  the  treasure,  she  laughed  merrily  at  my 
astounded  expression,  for  really  I  was  completely  over- 
come. I  had  heard  of  niuUuni  in  parvo,  and  here  was 
its  realization.  According  to  bargain,  she  gave  me 
her  card  inscribed  with  her  name  and  address.  As 
she  went  out,  I  heard  a  lady  inquire,  "Who  is  your 
friend  who  picked  up  your  handkerchief?"  "An  old 
Saratoga  beau,"  was  the  reply ;  and  they  departed. 

Did  I  ever  see  her  again?  Ha,  ha,  ha!  whoopee! 
Come  to  see  me,  and  among  my  treasures,  carefully 
wrapped  up  in  an  old  white  silk  cravat,  I'll  show  you  a 
purple  velvet  slipper,  lined  with  amber  -  colored  satin. 
The  little  ras — vixen,  I  mean — gave  me  that  slipper. 
Eheu !     "  Ruby"  caught  a  Tartar. 


RECORDOR,  REMINISCOR,  ET  OBLIVISCOR. 


MiDDLETOWN,  in  Connecticut,  used  to  be  a  lovely 
little  town,  and  were  it  not  situated  north  of  Mason 
and  Dixon's  line,  I  should  like  to  live  there ;  that  is, 
if  in  sixteen  years  it  has  not  grown  into  a  great  noisy 
city.  As  I  was  quite  young  when  there,  of  course  I 
cannot  recollect  much  about  its  trade,  or  manufactures, 
or  population,  or  "  any  thing  like  that."     If  you  -yyish 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  211 

statistics,  go  to  the  census  returns — I'm  no  census- 
taker.  But  I  do  remember  the  cherries.  I  think  there 
were  four  thousand  nine  hundred  and  twenty  three 
trees,  averaging  nearly  two  hundred  and  thirty-four 
thousand  five  hundred  and  sixty  seven  and  eight-ninths 
cherries  per  tree,  making  the  sum  total  of  cherries 
about — a  very  large  number. 

Then  there  was  Dr.  Olin,  the  President  of  the  Uni- 
versity. My  recollection  of  him  is  that  he  was  im- 
mense. I  remember  looking  up  to  his  face  with  the 
same  effort  as  it  would  now  require  to  look  upon  the 
summit  of  a  pyramid.  I  thought  him  taller  than  a 
cherry  tree.  AVell,  there  was  the  Wesleyan  University, 
filled  with  a  set  of  thin-legged,  narrow-chested  aboli- 
tionists. I  wish  I  had  had  my  present  size  then.  They 
would  be  always  hunting  up  the  little  Southerner  and 
questioning  him,  and  poking  fun  at  him.  Well,  there 
is  one  consolation,  they  heard  some  large  stories. 

Where  there  were  not  cherries  and  students,  and 
rosy  cheeked  helps,  (as  they  called  the  serving  maids,) 
and  Millerites,  there  were  currants.  They  were  at 
breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper,  and  between  times. 
Cherries,  currants,  mutton,  and  Irish  potatoes,  are  the 
only  things  I  remember  eating  while  at  Middletown, 
except  perhaps  a  few  gooseberries  and  some  green  ap- 
ples— stolen,  of  course. 

I  began  the  study  of  Smith's  Grammar  at  Middletown. 
I  bought  it  of  Smith  the  bookseller,  who  lived  next  door 
to  Smith  the  tanner,  two  doors  below  Smith  the  silver- 
smith, and  opposite  to  Smith  the  blacksmith.  After 
pegging  away  at  old  Lindley  Murray,  it  was  like  step- 


212  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

ping  from  a  rough  bog  upon  a  smooth  causeway,  to  get 
into  Smith's. 

I  think  they  had  some  sloops  at  Middletown,  and  an 
occasional  steamboat.  The  persons  I  best  remember, 
are  old  Dr.  Laban  Clarke,  a  Methodist  minister  with 
whom  I  boarded,  who  used  to  smoke  clay  pipes,  which 
I  stole  from  him  to  blow  soap-bubbles  with,  and  was  a 
good,  kind,  old  gentleman,  and  sometimes  worked  on 
his  farm  and  sometimes  preached.  (Remarkable  sen- 
tence, that  last  one.)  Then  there  was  his  wife,  who 
sometimes  knitted,  and  sometimes  made  pies,  and  occa- 
sionally scolded  the  old  Doctor,  Mary,  and  me.  Mary 
was  the  help.  She  did  every  thing.  She  was  astonish- 
ing. She  was  superhuman.  Like  the  ignorance  and 
credulity  of  the  present  age,  she  was  amazing.  Mary 
would  arrange  the  house,  cook  our  meals,  wash  our 
clothes,  and  then  be  neat  and  clean  and  rosy  and 
smiling  when  evening  came ;  ready  to  sit  down  to  tea 
with  us,  and  then  to  promenade  or  visit  the  neighbors 
until  dark.  I  used  to  think  her  beautiful.  Such  rose- 
red  cheeks,  and  such  plump,  round  arms  ;  and  she  was 
very  kind  to  ''the  little  trafficker  in  human  flesh  and 
blood" — "  the  little  nigger-driver,"  as  some  used  to 
call  me  ;  "  the  little  Southern  gentleman,"  as  she  called 
me.  There  was  much  alTcction  between  Mary  and  me 
— Platonic,  of  course ;  for  she  was  nearly  three  times 
as  old  as  I  was.  Middletown  went  strong  for  Polk  and 
Dallas,  I  suppose,  for  the  people  made  a  great  deal  of 
noise  about  them.  There,  again,  I  was  opposed  to  all 
my  acquaintances ;  for  though  very  little  and  very 
young,  I  knew  that  Hon.  William  C.  Preston  was  a 


LYRICS     AND     SKETCHES. 


213 


great  friend"  of  Mr.  Clay,  and  that  was  enough  for  me. 
I  had  met   "Harry  of   the  West"  at   Col.   Preston's 
house,  and  he  had  patted  me  on  the  head,  and  so  I  be- 
came an  out-and-out  Whig,  and  knew  as  much  what 
my  principles  were  as  a  good  many  others  older  and 
wiser,  whom  Mr.  Clay  had  made  his  partisans  by  (me- 
taphorically) patting  their  knowledge-boxes.     And^  to 
this  day  I  am— at  least,  not  a  National  or  Convention 
Democrat.     On  the  Fourth  of  July,   "  a  day  dear  to 
the  heart  of  every  American— a  day,"  and  so  on,  an 
immense  hickory  tree  was  dug  up  by  the  roots  and 
hauled  into  the  town  by  a  team  of  fifty  oxen,   and 
planted  in  the  public  square,  amid  great  rejoicings, 
and  firing  of  guns  and  crackers,  in  honor  of  "Young 
Hickory"— James  K.  Polk.     True  to  my  principles,  I 
didn't  fire  a  cracker ;  but  in  a  meadow,  mounted  on  a 
haycock,  made  an  address— a  fervid  appeal  for  Clay- 
to  an  interested  audience  of  three  girls,  and  a  boy,  and 
a  dog.     Since  then,  by  reason  of  his  compromises  and 
so  on,  Mr.  Clay  has  not  been  "so  highly  esteemed  by 
this  honorabie   court."     The   court  now  pronounces 
him  a  great  orator  and  skilful  juggler. 

One  day,  soon  after  I  went  to  Middletown,  as  I  was 
strolling  along  past  a  beautiful  cottage  half  hidden  by 
trees  and  vines,  I  looked  up  and  saw  overhanging  the 
street  the  finest  and  largest  ox-heart  cherries  ever  be- 
holden. Involuntarily  I  exclaimed,  "Oh,  crikey,  how 
I'd  like  to  have  some  of  those  cherries!"  "Well,  you 
can  have  some,  if  you'll  come  in,"  said  a  sweet  voice. 
I  never  was  so  completely  taken  aback  but  once,  and 
the  Senior  Editor  remembers  that  time.     I  had  seen 


-]  \  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

no  one,  and  imagined  myself  entirely  alone.  Turning 
in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  I  looked  through  the  gar- 
den paling,  and  there,  ah!  there  was  a  sight  for  "  sair 
e'en."  The  most  fairylike  little  beauty  that  I  ever 
saw  was  standing  there  with  her  straw  hat  thrown 
back  to  let  the  sunbeams  play  among  her  curls ;  and 
with  the  archest  look,  and  with  the  sweetest  smile 
wreathing  around  her  rosebud  lips,  she  was  evidently 
enjoying  my  confusion.  She  had  been  stooping  down 
to  pluck  some  violets,  and  the  rose  branches  and 
honeysuckle  vines  had  embraced  her  so  lovingly  and 
close,  as  to  conceal  her  completely.  Hearing  my  ex- 
clamation, she  had  started  up  and  answered  me.  Well, 
1  went  in.  She  was  about  my  age,  may  be  a  little 
older ;  and  we  had  a  good  time.  We  gathered  cher- 
ries, and  went  to  the  dairy  down  by  the  spring  and  got 
some  nice,  cool  milk ;  and  sitting  under  a  willow  tree 
on  the  bright,  green  grass,  we  had  a  glorious  feast. 
By-the-bye,  it  was  my  birthday.  She  told  me  her 
name  was  Pauline,  and  I  informed  her  as  to  my  cogno- 
men and  antecedents.  She  knew  my  name  already, 
and  where  I  was  from,  and  all.  Who  in  a  week  doesn't 
know  every  thing  about  everybody  in  a  New  England 
village  '.'  And  than  I  told  her  about  my  southern  home 
— about  its  flowers  in  spring  and  fruits  in  summer.  I 
told  her  of  the  wind  sighing  mournfully  among  the 
long-leaf  pines,  and  of  tlic  breezes  shaking  showers  of 
golden  bells  from  the  jessamine  vines.  I  told  her 
about  the  low-drooping  moss,  and  the  great  white  mag- 
nolia blossoms,  and  the  crimson  trumpet-vine.  And 
then  I  talked  about  Bill  and  'Manda,  my  African  play- 


LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES.  215 

mates  at  home;  and  about  my  kind  nurse,  Rosina; 
and  Minerva,  the  cook  and  terror  of  my  youth,  and  all 
the  rest.  The  hours  flew  swiftly  by,  and  Mary  was 
soon  forgotten :  her  red-apple  cheeks  faded  into  no- 
thing, compared  with  the  peach-down  of  Pauline's ; 
and  even  the  picture  which  I  had  brought  with  me, 
painted  on  my  memory,  of  the  little  Alice  I  had  left  in 
Carolina,  was  dimmed  for  a  while.  Well,  we  met  fre- 
quently afterwards :  at  church,  at  home  beneath  the 
cherry  trees,  in  the  meadow  by  the  river;  and  it 
wasn't  long  before  the  daguerreotype  of  Alice  had  en- 
tirely faded.  But,  as  usual  in  such  cases,  it  was  soon 
replaced  by  another — the  beautiful  image  of  Titania, 
as  I  used  to  call  her — for  I  had  read  some  of  Shaks- 
peare  even  then ;  and  as  I  remember  her  now,  she  was 
the  completest  personification  of  my  idea  of  the  Queen 
of  the  Fairies  that  I  have  ever  seen.  "Ah  !  well,"  as 
Thackeray,  translating  Horace,  says,  "the  fugacious 
years  have  passed  away,  my  Postumius."  Pauline 
may  be  still  on  earth,  (rather  em-bon-pointish  for  a 
fairy  by  this  time,  I  suppose,)  or  she  may  be  an  angel 
in  heaven — I  know  not.  But  passing  years,  weight  of 
cares,  nor  silvered  hairs,  can  ever  bring  to  me  forget- 
fulness  of  that  beautiful  dream,  (as  it  now  seems,)  that 
sweet  love-play  of  boyhood.  And  it  may  be  that  we 
will  meet  again  in  the  land  of  the  hereafter. 


216  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 


THE   DESTINY  OF  THE  NATION. 


Extract  from  an  Oration  delivered  at  George's  Station,  in 
St.  George's  Parish,  S.  C,  on  the  4th  of  July,  1860. 


"Westward  the  course  of  Empire  takes  its  way." 
In  Eastern  lands  there  stands  a  monument.     As  the 
traveler,  weaned  and  worn  with  the  toil  of  the  day, 
nears  the  end  of  his  journey  over  vast  deserts,  and 
approaches  the  Nile,  he  sees,  darkly  relieved  against 
the  sky,  in  solemn,   bare,   and  awful  grandeur,   the 
Pyramid  of  Cheops.     There  it  was  reared  while  yet 
the  world  was  young ;  and  there  it  stands  now,  that 
cycles  of  years  have  rolled  away,  and  earth's  children 
have  crowned  her  with  the  spoils  of  ages.     The  sands 
of  the  desert,  driven  by  the  wild  sirocco's  blast,  have 
dashed  against  its  base ;  the  clouds,  borne  upon  the 
wings  of  the  tempest,  have  swept  around  its  sides ; 
the   thunders   have  rolled,   and   the  lightnings   have 
blazed,  and  the  trumpet-tongued  voices  of  the  blast 
have  howled  around  its  head ;   but,  undecaying  and 
ever  indestructible,  it  stands  as  a  sign,  an  awful  moni- 
tor.     The    fragments    of    columns    and    hieroglyph- 
sculptured  obelisks,  and  arches  and  pillars  covered 
with  curious  carvings,  at  its  base,  are  the  ruins  of 
proud  cities  and  gorgeous  palaces,  where  the  powerful 
king,  who  reared  the  stupendous  pile,  reigned  amid 
scenes  of  voluptuous  beauty  and  oriental  magnificence  ; 
was  monarch  over  a  hundred  tribes,  and,  ruling  with 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  217 

unquestioned  power,  was  almost  worshipped  as  a  god. 
The  arts  had  been  cherished,  science  had  made  pro- 
gress, and  all  that  wealth  and  power  could  give  com- 
bined to  make  a  glorious  kingdom.  Foreign  nations 
had  been  conquered,  and  their  tribute  was  poured  into 
the  overflowing  coflFers  of  the  king.  Cities  had  been 
sacked,  and  their  rich  spoils  had  been  brought  to  de- 
corate his  capital.  Tithes  of  oil,  and  corn,  and  wine, 
from  fertile  fields  and  vine-crowned  hills,  filled  his  gra- 
naries and  storehouses.  Armies  of  soldiers,  footmen 
and  horsemen,  bowmen  and  slingers,  were  gathered 
under  his  banners,  to  follow  him  to  war,  or  to  protect 
his  throne  from  hostile  invasion.  Oh,  it  was  a  grand, 
a  glorious,  a  magnificent  kingdom ;  and  he  who  ruled 
it  was  a  grand  and  glorious  king.  A  waste  of  ruins, 
covered  by  the  encroaching  sands — a  lair  for  the  wolf 
and  a  den  for  the  jackal — a  handful  of  dust,  soon  to 
be  scattered  by  the  whirlwind — these,  and  these  alone, 
remain  of  the  kingdom  and  its  king:  destroyed  and 
forgotten,  with  no  memorial  left  but  the  everlasting 
pyramid  to  tell  posterity  their  history.  The  course  of 
empire,  which  had  started  on  its  westward  journey  first 
in  the  far-oflf  east,  had  flowed  on,  and  the  star  which 
ever  shines  radiantly  and  gloriously  in  its  front,  had 
rested  a  while  over  Egypt ;  but  obeying  the  impulse 
given  it  when  first  it  commenced  its  motion,  the  stream 
had  flowed  past,  and  a  waste  of  ruins  marked  its  track. 
The  glory  fled  from  Egypt  when  the  course  of  empire 
departed,  and  even  the  cloud-splitting  pyramid  scarce 
catches  the  far-olF  beams  of  its  golden  star. 

To  Europe  next  the  course  of  empire  flowed.    Greece 


218  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

was  the  seat  of  liberty;  and  wherever  the  spirit  of 
liberty  is,  in  all  its  purity  and  vigor,  there  will  the 
empire  ever  be.  But  Greece,  proud  Greece,  famous, 
classic,  glorious  Greece,  lost  that  pure  spirit  of  liberty. 
Patriotism  died  out  or  was  bartered  for  foreign  gold, 
and  Rome  became  the  conqueror  of  Greece,  whose 
might  all  lands  had  feared,  and  whose  navies  rode  in 
triumph  over  every  sea.  Then  Rome,  enthroned  upon 
her  seven  hills,  empress  of  cities  and  queen  of  the 
world,  crowned  with  the  diadems  torn  from  the  brows 
of  vanquished  princes,  became  the  seat  of  empire. 
There  liberty  dwelt  in  her  sacred  temple,  and  reverent- 
ly was  worshipped.  But  with  conquest  came  wealth 
and  luxury,  and  all  their  enervating  consequences. 
The  integrity  which  had  nerved  Fabricius  to  refuse  the 
splendid  offers  of  Pyrrhus,  and  fearlessly  view  the 
strange  and  terrific  beast — the  free,  bold  spirit  which 
had  impelled  the  armies  to  oppose  the  might  of  Han- 
nibal and  complete  the  destruction  of  Carthage,  their 
proud  and  hated  rival — the  adventurous  courage  which 
had  animated  the  legions  when  their  eagles  floated  tri- 
umphantly over  the  dust  and  din  of  war  and  the  fallen 
bodies  of  Gaul  and  Gael — this  strong,  brave  spirit  was 
emasculated ;  and  liberty,  finding  no  longer  a  home, 
when  her  altars  were  defiled  by  the  excesses  of  ty- 
rants, fled  shrieking  away,  and  the  star  of  empire  once 
more  resumed  its  westward  course. 

The  car  of  empire  rolled  on,  now  resting  for  a  sea- 
son here  and  for  a  period  there.  Germany,  France, 
Sweden — all  were  visited  in  their  turn.  Westward 
still  it  kept  its  way.     England  next  became  the  seat  of 


I"   LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  219 

empire.  During  the  age  of  Elizabeth,  no  country 
could  equal  England ;  and  this  might  well  be  called 
her  golden  age.  The  kingdom  was  at  the  height  of 
prosperity,  being  ably  and  wisely  governed  by  a  queen 
of  masculine  energy  and  will,  assisted  by  most  efficient 
counsellors.  England  was  peaceful  at  home,  secure 
from  internal  commotions,  and  her  power  was 
feared  by  all  foreign  nations.  Commerce  was  flourish- 
ing, and  every  ship  which  came  to  port  brought  the 
golden  spoils  of  Spanish  galleons  and  the  rich  produce 
of  Eastern  and  Western  Indies.  The  Protestant  reli- 
gion was  then  first  established  upon  that  fii*m  basis 
from  which  it  has  never  since  been  shaken.  Litera- 
ture was  at  the  height  of  its  glory,  and  in  its  temple 
William  Shakspeare  was  the  great  high-priest.  The 
grand  old  Baron  of  Verulam,  Francis  Bacon,  was  en- 
tering on  his  high  career  of  reforming  the  systems  of 
human  knowledge.  The  brave  Robert  Devereux,  Earl 
of  Essex,  led  the  armies  to  victory  on  land ;  while 
Francis  Drake  rode  conqueror  of  the  seas.  In  truth, 
this  was  a  glorious  age,  rendered  illustrious,  as  it  has 
been,  by  the  deeds  of  many  a  one  whose  name  the 
world  would  not  willingly  let  die.  And  then  did  the 
light  from  the  star  of  empire  shine  most  brightly  over 
England's  wide  dominion.  That  light  shone  for  a 
while,  but  it  has  begun  to  fade.  At  times  it  grows 
more  brilliant,  only  to  be  succeeded  by  a  faint  and  un- 
certain ray.  And  the  car  of  empire  has  begun  to 
move.  The  light  beams  brightly  now,  and  the  car 
seems  resting  now,  for  England  is  a  grand  and  a  glo- 
rious nation  ;  but  nevertheless,  although  very  slowly, 


220  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

yet  very  surely,  the  car  is  in  motion,  and  "westward 
the  course  of  empire  takes  its  way." 

Now  let  me  describe  a  picture  that  is  passing  before 
my  mental  vision.  It  is  a  calm,  still  night,  and  the 
ocean  in  its  placid  rest  is  unruffled,  save  by  the  soft 
summer  breeze  which  plays  upon  its  bosom.  Three 
ships  are  drifting  with  the  tide,  mirrored  by  the  moon 
in  the  clear  depths  of  ocean,  until  the  real  vessel,  with 
its  masts,  and  sails,  and  cordage,  can  scarcely  be  dis- 
tinguished from  its  reflected  picture.  All  is  quiet  and 
still.  The  crew,  wearied  with  toil,  have  sunk  to  rest, 
and  none  remain  on  deck,  save  one  —  a  solitary 
watcher.  Wrapt  in  his  heavy  Spanish  cloak,  he  sits 
and  gazes  upon  the  expanse  of  waters.  There  is  a 
troubled  look  upon  his  face,  for  he  has  ventured  his 
all  in  the  quest  of  a  New  World ;  and  if  the  morning 
shall  dawn  and  the  land  be  undiscovered,  he  must 
change  his  course  and  retrace  his  steps,  with  blighted 
hopes  and  blasted  fortunes.  With  anxious  gaze  he 
peers  through  the  darkness.  As  the  vessel  mounts 
upon  a  wave,  a  faint  ray  of  light  comes  shining  o'er 
the  waters.  Ah !  bright  and  glorious  is  the  gleam 
which  lights  his  features  now.  With  a  glad  voice  he 
loudly  shouts,  "Land,  ho!  the  New  World  is  found!" 
Then  sinking  upon  his  knees,  Christopher  Columbus 
returns  thanks  to  his  God.  To  the  eye  of  fancy,  what 
light  was  this  but  the  first  beams  of  the  star  of  em- 
pire, as  it  rose  over  the  Western  World  ?  That  glori- 
ous star,  which,  first  rising  then,  is  mounting  steadily 
up  from  the  horizon  now,  until,  reaching  the  zenith,  it 
shall  stand  fixed  for  ever,  and  blazon,  and  beam,  and 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  221 

gloriously  glow  with  eternal  light,  as  a  sign  and  signal  of 
hope  and  promise — that  star  which  shall  be  fixed  as  a  bea- 
con-light to  tell  to  the  nations  of  earth  where  is  the 
empire  of  the  world,  and  where  is  reared  the  grand 
temple  where  the  spirit  of  liberty  shall  for  ever  be 
enshrined !  Do  not  all  the  indications  of  passing 
events  point  to  one  spot  as  the  central  seat  of  the  fu- 
ture empire  ? 

There  is  a  river  which  moves  along  grandly,  solemn- 
ly, awfully,  and  with  irresistible  power.  Rising  among 
the  ice-crowned  mountains  of  the  North,  it  rolls  along, 
bearing  navies  on  its  breast,  and,  disdaining  to  be  re- 
strained between  its  banks,  teeming  with  the  rich  pro- 
duce of  the  finest  lands,  until  it  pours  its  flood  of  wa- 
ters into  the  great  Gulf,  where  the  sun  beams  down 
with  tropical  fierceness  upon  the  broad  bayous  and 
fertile  savannas  of  southern  regions.  Somewhere — I 
know  not  where  —  nor  does  any  other,  save  the  Great 
God,  know;  but  somewhere  in  the  Mississippi  Valley 
is  to  be  the  seat  of  empire.  Are  not  cities  springing 
up  there  in  a  day,  as  if  created  by  the  magician's 
wand  ?  Is  not  the  wealth  of  the  East  pouring  thither? 
Are  not  the  Eastern  States  being  rendered  barren,  in 
a  measure,  by  the  flow  of  wealth,  and  population,  and 
talent  toward  the  West?  Is  not  the  farthest  East, 
whence  the  course  of  empire  began  its  way,  beginning 
to  send  tribute  ?  If  not,  what  means  all  this  pomp 
and  parade  to  receive  the  Japanese  ambassadors,  who 
have  left  their  secluded  land  to  open  intercourse  with 
the  outside  world,  and  have  made  their  first  visit  to 
any  foreign  power  at  the  capital  city  of   America? 


222  LYRICS    AND     SKETCHES. 

Yes,  the  old  East,  the  cradle  of  mankind,  whose  peo- 
ple, having  lost  the  energetic  spirit  which  liberty  al- 
ways induces,  have  slumbered  long  in  utter  forgetful- 
ness  that  it  ever  existed ;  that  old  East  has  suddenly 
been  waked  from  its  sleep  of  ages  by  American  enter- 
prise, and,  recognizing  yet  the  liberty  it  has  lost, 
comes  to  the  West  to  revere  and  adore  it.  Yes,  the 
East,  worn  with  its  weight  of  years,  and  trembling  in 
its  decrepitude,  comes  to  greet  and  do  reverence  to  the 
young  and  growing  West.  As  in  days  of  yore,  when 
the  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  in  Galilee,  and  the 
wise  men  came  from  the  East,  guided  by  the  star  which 
rose  in  the  West,  and  with  its  heavenly  light  shone  as 
a  sign  of  the  world's  redemption  from  the  fetters  and 
bondage  of  death  and  sin,  so  in  our  days  have  wise 
men  come  from  the  East,  guided  by  a  star  whose  radi- 
ance, only  second  to  that  which  rested  over  Bethlehem, 
illumines  the  world  with  its  light,  and  proclaims  to  the 
nations  political  redemption,  and  freedom  from  oppres- 
sion and  tyranny,  0  !  it  is  a  glorious  star  ! — the  Star 
of  Empire !  One  shining  point  is  Justice  ;  another  is 
Strength ;  a  third  is  Valor ;  a  fourth  is  Freedom ;  a 
fifth  is  Education ;  and  the  sixth  is  Religion ;  while 
the  centre,  the  body,  the  source  whence  all  these  rays 
do  emanate  and  scintillate,  the  great  light  which 
crowns  the  whole,  is  Patriotism  and  Liberty.  Oh, 
glorious  Star  of  Liberty  and  Empire ! — brighter  far 
than  planets,  moons,  and  suns  —  more  radiant  than 
galaxies  and  nebulae  —  grandest,  and  brightest,  and 
best,  by  far,  of  all  the  radiant,  starry  host  of  heaven ! 
— eternally  shalt  thou  shine  with  undimmed  and  in- 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  223 

creasing  effulgence,  guarding  and  blessing  this  land  of 
the  free ! 


PATRIOTISM. 

Extract  from  the  first  Annual  Oration  before  the  Alumni  As- 
sociation of  WoFFORD  College,  July  10,  1860. 

There  was  an  earthquake  once,  and  Rome  had 
trembled  through  all  her  seven  hills.  The  capitol  was 
shaken  from  its  lowest  foundation  to  its  highest  gil- 
ded pinnacle.  Proud  palaces  and  gorgeous  temples 
tottered  and  reeled.  Monumental  pillars,  victory- 
commemorating  obelisks  and  columns,  quivered  from 
the  shock ;  while  the  strong  walls  rocked  to  and  fro, 
and  triumphal  arches  were  riven.  A  yawning  chasm 
opened  wide,  with  fathomless  depth,  and  emitted  pesti- 
lential vapors  in  the  most  crowded  thoroughfare  of  the 
city,  and  as  its  black  walls  receded,  threatened  to  en- 
gulf the  forum  itself.  And  now  there  arose  tremen- 
dous confusion.  The  senators  assembled,  the  equites 
were  seen  burring  past  on  foaming  steeds.  Long  pro- 
cessions marched  to  the  temples,  bearing  gifts  for  the 
shrines  and  victims  for  the  altars.  The  vestals  assem- 
bled around  their  sacred  fire,  and  as  its  undying  flame 
arose,  besought  with  tears  and  prayers  their  virgin 
goddess.'.  Priests  and  flamens  were  convened.  Sooth- 
sayers and  oracles  were  consulted.  The  people  ran 
hither  and  thither  in  wild  confusion,  for  their  proud 
forum  and  regal  Rome  were  in  danger  of  destruction. 


224  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

And  now  'came  the  priests,  bearing  'wands,  and  their 
hair  with  fillets  bound,  and  delivered  the  oracular  an- 
swer, "  Rome's  best  and  richest  possession  must  be 
thrown  into  the  gulf  as  a  propitiatory  offering  to  the 
offended  deities."  Loud  rose  the  clamor  now  from  a 
thousand  tongues,  as  the  citizens  debated  as  to  what 
was  the  most  valued  possession  which  Rome  could 
boast  among  her  treasuries,  rich  with  the  gathered 
spoils  of  conquered  tribes,  and  the  tributes  of  allied 
nations.  Confusion  was  worse  confounded,  for  who 
could  tell  but  that  the  city  might  be  despoiled,  and  yet 
the  desired  end  not  be  attained  ?  And  now  despuir 
spread  her  black  wing  and  hovered  over  the  city,  cast- 
ing gloom  like  a  pall  on  the  sky,  while  terror  and  dis- 
may were  legibly  imprinted  on  every  face.  But  hark  ! 
a  trumpet's  sound  is  heard  from  afar  off.  Nearer  now 
and  nearer  comes  the  sound  until,  with  one  wild 
clarion  blast  of  triumph  and  defiance,  a  knight,  moun- 
ted on  a  gallant  charger,  bursts  into  the  assembly.  The 
sunbeams  blaze  in  reflected  rays  from  the  polished 
steel  which  girds  his  manly  breast ;  they  beam  in  daz- 
zling splendor  from  the  diamonds  which  adorn  his 
sword-hilt,  and  gleam  in  glorious  radiance  from  the 
rubies  which  blazon  on  his  helm.  It  is  Marcus  Cur- 
tius,  a  youth  of  noble  ancestry.  His  fathers  before 
him  have  fought  for  Rome  and  died  for  Rome ;  and  al- 
ready has  he  proved  by  valiant  deeds  upon  the  battle 
field,  that  he  is  a  worthy  scion  of  a  noble  stock,  and 
that  the  honest  name  he  bears  never  will  be  dishonored, 
nor  will  the  escutcheon  of  his  fathers  ever  be  tarnished. 
Loud  shouts   the  crowd,  '*  Salve,  Curti,  atavis  edite 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  225 

clarissimis."  Beckoning  for  silence,  he  cries,  **What 
better  or  richer  treasure  can  a  city  possess  than  arms, 
and  valor,  and  a  patriot  who  is  ready  to  die  for  his 
country's  safety  ?" — then  urging  his  steed,  and  waving 
his  sword,  and  shouting  aloud,  "Pro  patria  carissima,'* 
he  plunged  into  the  gulf,  whose  closing  walls  became 
his  tomb.  Yes,  the  noblest,  the  best,  and  the  dearest 
possession  which  a  country  can  boast  amidst  her  richest 
treasures  is,  a  true  patriot  who  devotes  his  life  for  his 
countrymen,  and  is  willing  to  live  or  ready  to  die  for 
the  security  and  welfare  of  his  native  land. 

Pope  says  that  "the  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man." 
Therefore,  that  we  may  properly  employ  a  short  time, 
let  us  engage  in  the  consideration  of  man  in  one  of  his 
noblest  and  most  interesting  characteristics.  When  we 
regard  man  with  reference  merely  to  his  physical  na- 
ture, his  noblest  attribute  is  strength  ;  for  we  admire 
with  a  feeling  of  respect  one  whose  stalwart  form  and 
sinewy  limbs  betoken  in  him  a  strength  greatly  supe- 
rior to  that  of  his  fellows.  But  this  is  an  attribute 
common  with  him  to  the  brutes  that  perish,  and  we 
have  the  same  feelings  toward  the  monarch  of  the 
forest.  Rising  a  step  higher,  we  consider  man  with 
reference  to  his  mental  nature,  but  still  absolutely, 
and  with  no  reference  to  any  of  his  relations  to  others-; 
and  here  his  highest  quality  is  Truth.  When  we  regard 
him  with  reference  to  his  spiritual  nature,  and  in  his 
relations  as  a  creature  to  his  great  Creator,  then  his 
best  attribute  is  Piety.  So  when  we  consider  man  in 
his  manifold  relations  to  his  fellow-men  as  a  citizen  of 


226  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

the  same  State  or  nation,  then  his  most  elevated  char- 
acteristic is  Patriotism. 

Patriotism  is  generally  defined  a  "  love  of  one's 
country"  ;  but  in  our  opinion  a  better  definition  would 
be  '*  a  zeal  for  one's  country."  The  mere  passive 
emotion  of  love  can  never  be  what  is  meant  by  this 
■word.  There  must  be  an  entire  abnegation  of  self,  and 
a  passionate  ardor  and  earnest  determination  to  employ 
all  one's  best  powers  for  the  benefit  of  his  country,  be 
it  his  native  land  or  the  home  of  his  adoption.  There 
must  always  be  action  connected  with  love  to  make 
that  love  valuable  or  acceptable  to  the  object  upon 
which  it  is  bestowed.  "  Faint  heart  never  won  fair 
lady,"  is  an  old  and  true  maxim,  which  took  its  rise  in 
the  days  when  valiant  knights  must  do  deeds  of  daring 
and  give  and  receive  hard  blows  in  the  tourney's  ring, 
in  order  to  win  the  favor  of  their  lady's  smiles.  And 
so  it  is  with  all  kinds  of  love  ;  man  must  prove  it  not 
by  words,  but  by  deeds.  And  now  comes  the  conside- 
ration what  constitutes  love  of  country — that  is  to 
say,  what  deeds  must  the  patriot  do,  and  in  what  man- 
ner must  he  act  so  as  to  prove  his  patriotism.  He  can 
do  this,  in  the  first  place,  by  adding  to  the  resources  of 
the  country.  Let  him  take  the  geologist's  hammer,  or 
the  miner's  lamp,  and  proceed  in  the  career  of  discov- 
eries. Let  him  delve  deep  into  the  caverns  of  earth, 
where  the  gnomes  and  dwarfs  of  fable  hold  their  ward 
over  the  rich  treasuries  of  genii  and  fairies ;  and  pene- 
trating the  adamantine  bolts  and  bars  amid  the  pois- 
onous blasts  of  mephitic  vapors,  secure  from  harm  by 
the  impenetrable  armor  which  Science  lends,  let  him 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  227 

bring  to  light  the  shining  heaps  of  metals  and  minerals 
"which  for  ages  have  lain  hidden  in  earth's  dark  womb, 
and  waiting  there  their  palingenesis.  Let  him  scar 
the  yielding  breast  of  mother  earth  with  many  a  deep- 
cut  furrow,  and  bring  the  lamp  of  Science  to  shed  its 
genial  rays,  and  gather  all  that  may  be  gained  from 
the  experience  of  the  past,  in  order  to  increase  her 
productiveness.  Let  him  go  boldly  forth  beyond  the 
hitherto  untrodden  paths  in  the  realms  of  Science,  and 
Art,  and  open  new  roads  for  the  increase  of  capital 
and  the  advancement  of  enterprise ;  and  from  that 
unknown  golden  land  gather  materials  by  which  he 
may  add  other  bright  links  to  the  chain  of  inventions. 
Let  him  traverse  the  pathless  waste  of  waters  carrying 
to  distant  lands  the  products  of  his  own,  and  bringing 
in  return  the  wealth  of  their  teeming  stores,  thus  joining 
far  oflf  lands  together,  appeasing  the  strifes  of  foreign 
nations,  and  binding  them  together  by  the  strong  but 
silken  bonds  of  a  common  civilization.  Or  let  him 
descend  in  the  diving  bell  beneath  the  ocean  wave 
and  wander  through  its  coral  caves  over  pearl-strewn 
floors,  and  where,  like  morning's  dewy  drops,  the 
precious  amber  falls,  and  behold  the  realization  of  all 
his  boyhood's  dreams  of  Aladdin's  fabled  gardens, 
where  rubies,  and  diamonds,  and  emeralds,  and  pearls, 
were  the  fruit  which  hung  from  the  gold-crusted 
boughs.  The  untold  wealth  of  argosies  is  there,  and 
"  full  many  a  gem  the  dark,  unfathomed  caves  of 
ocean  boar."  Every  new  discovery  in  geology  ;  every 
new  appliance  in  agriculture  ;  every  new  invention ; 
every  facility  for  the  increase  of  capital,  and  every 


228  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

particle  of  lost  capital  restored,  is  so  much  added  im- 
mediately to  the  wealth  and  resources,  and  then  to  the 
power  and  grandeur  of  a  nation  ;  and  he  who  makes 
these  discoveries,  appliances,  inventions,  facilities  and 
restorations,  acts  truly  and  well  a  patriot's  part. 

But  a  man  can  evince  his  patriotism  in  the  second 
place,  by  advancing  his  country's  renown.  Let  him, 
by  diligent  self-culture,  gain  for  himself  a  great 
place  among  tlie  high  priests  who  officiate  in  the 
temple  of  Art.  Let  him  color  the  glowing  canvass  or 
carve  the  enduring  marble,  reproducing  Nature  in 
her  most  glorious  forms,  or  giving  existence  to  the  ra- 
diant images  which  are  the  beautiful  children  of  his 
own  brilliant  imagination.  Let  him  gain  the  applause 
of  listening  Senates,  and  cause  thousands  to  hang 
spell-bound  as  they  hear  him  evolve  grand  ideas  clothed 
in  the  enchanting  garb  which  eloquence  affords.  Let 
him  wake  to  melody  the  living  lyre,  and  with  the  sweet 
rhythmic  strains  of  poetry,  touch  a  responsive  chord  in 
the  hearts  of  men,  lulling  their  passions,  and  soothing 
their  sorrows.  Or  let  him  rudely  sweep  the  strings, 
and  stir  their  souls  and  nerve  their  arms  to  deeds  of  high 
emprise.  Or  let  him  on  the  battle-field,  where  man 
meets  man  in  the  terrible  struggle  for  life  and  death, 
win  for  himself  a  bright  page  on  glory's  scroll,  and 
hear  the  welcoming  shouts  and  joyous  songs  as  a  glad 
nation  greets  his  triumphal  car,  and  hails  with  peeans 
the  hero  returning  laden  with  the  spoils  of  the  van- 
quished ;  and  having  added  new  lustre  to  his  country's 
arms,  and  another  ray  to  the  halo  of  glory  encircling 
her  name,  and  all   the  praise,  and  honor,  and  glory, 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  229 

-which  will  be  his  as  the  meed  and  guerdon  of  excellence, 
will  be  reflected  in  ten-fold  measure  upon  the  land 
•which,  as  a  proud  mother,  exults  in  the  fame  of  her  son. 
And  last,  but  best  of  all,  he  can  evince  his  patriotism 
by  doing  good  to  his  fellow-citizens.  Let  him  go  forth 
as  a  Howard  did,  among  the  dungeons,  and  prison- 
yards,  and  alms-houses,  and  among  the  polluted  haunts 
of  the  vicious  and  depraved,  bearing  comfort  to  the 
sin-stricken  children  of  sorrow,  and  alleviating  their 
pangs.  Let  him  dry  the  widow's  and  the  orphan's  tears, 
and  strengthen  and  reclaim  the  weak  and  erring 
brother.  Let  him  hold  up  to  perishing  sinners  the 
cross  upon  which  our  Christ  was  slain,  and  point  them 
to  the  narrow  way  which  leadeth  to  life  eternal,  and 
tell  them  the  Name,  the  glorious  Name,  the  only  Name, 
by  which  they  can  be  saved.  Or  let  him,  as  a  WofFord 
did,  spend  a  life  of  hardships  and  toil,  that  he  might 
found  an  institution  from  which,  as  a  fountain  source, 
a  triple  stream  of  education,  refinement,  and  religion, 
might  flow  forth,  refreshing  all  the  land ;  and  from 
which,  as  a  central  sun,  the  bright  rays  of  a  glorious 
light  might  stream  forth  —  a  light  which  bursts 
through  the  gloom  of  ignorance  and  dispels  the  clouds 
of  error,  and  penetrates  with  its  grand  effulgence  into 
the  dark  caverns  where  the  vampire  Superstition 
dwells ;  who,  bat-like,  hides  his  dazzled  eyes,  and  flies 
shrieking  away.  Yes !  if  all  these  deeds  be  the  proofs 
of  patriotism,  and  those  who  perform  them  be  patriots, 
what  must  be  he  who,  by  contributing  his  wealth  to  the 
establishment  of  a  well-ordered  College,  helps  to  prepare 
the  youth  of  his  native  land  to  perform  ably  and  well 


230  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

any  or  all  of  these  acts,  and  to  fill  honorably  and  use- 
fully any  of  the  positions  incident  thereto  ?  "What 
must  he  be  but  a  true  patriot,  who,  by  his  own  exertions, 
furnishes  the  means  of  blessing  his  country  by  the 
spread  of  education  and  the  dissemination  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  honor,  truth,  and  virtue? 

Having  now  briefly  and  hurriedly  considered  patriot- 
ism objectively,  as  to  its  proofs,  and  as  to  who  is  the 
patriot,  let  us  now  consider  it  subjectively.  Patriot- 
ism, tlie  mere  love  of  country,  is  a  natural  instinct  ; 
and  as  such  is  universal,  existing  in  greater  or  less 
degree  among  all  men,  and  not  depending  at  all,  as  to 
its  strength,  upon  their  rank  in  the  scale  of  civilization. 
This  principle  is  one  of  the  beneficent  provisions  of  a 
kind  Providence,  causing  men  to  dwell  contentedly  in, 
and  to  love  better  than  all  othei's,  their  own  lands,  be 
they  barren  or  fruitful.  It  is  this  which  makes  the 
ice-bound  coasts  of  Greenland  seem  to  the  Esquimaux 
but  the  barriers  which  shut  out  the  rest  of  the  world 
from  their  Paradise ;  and  it  is  this  which  makes  the 
burning  sun,  beaming  down  with  tropical  fierceness 
upon  the  arid  plains  of  Sierra  Leone,  seem  to  the  negro 
but  the  genial  warmth,  fructifying  the  garden  spot  of 
the  world. 

In  a  more  exalted  degree,  rising  from  a  mere  in- 
stinct into  a  sentiment,  it  was  this  glorious  principle 
which  prompted  the  immortal  three  hundred  when  they 
exchanged  death  for  immortality  at  Thcrmopylno.  It  was 
this  which,  as  long  as  it  remained  vigorous  and  uncor- 
ruptcd,  rendered  Greece  invincible.  And  it  was  this, 
and  this  alone,  which  overcame  every  other  feeling  in 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  231 

the  breast  of  Brutus,  and  prompted  him  when  he  struck 
the  dagger  to  the  tyrant's  heart.  In  modern  times, 
this  principle  of  patriotism,  animating  the  English 
barons,  extorted  fi-om  their  monarch  at  Runnymede 
for  them  and  their  descendants,  the  priceless  privi- 
leges of  the  Magna  Charta.  This  sustained  our  fore- 
fathers during  the  eventful  days  of  '76,  and  won  for 
us  the  liberties  we  now  enjoy  ;  the  glorious  inalien- 
able rights  of  free  speech,  a  free  press,  and  a  free 
Church.  It  is  patriotism  which  has  filled  the  long 
rolls  of  glory  with  the  names  of  heroes  ;  and  it  is  pa- 
triotism which  has  filled  the  niches  of  Fame's  grand 
temple  with  the  statues  of  demi-gods.  0  patriotism! 
heaven-born,  God-given,  earth-blessing  patriotism  ! 
long  mayest  thou  dwell  in  this  our  beautiful  land,  thine 
own  chosen  home.  0  patriotism !  guardian,  protec- 
tor !  long  mayest  thou  spread  thy  broad  segis  over  us, 
warding  off  danger.  0  patriotism !  bright  angel, 
shining  spirit  !  long  may  it  be  ere,  sickened  with  our 
sins,  and  disgusted  at  our  crimes,  thou  shalt,  with 
blushing  cheeks,  and  tearful  eyes,  and  drooping  pinions, 
wing  thy  flight  to  thy  heavenly  home ;  far,  far  be  the 
day  when  thou  shalt  depart  from  this  land  of  the  free. 
But  patriotism,  though  like  its  kindred  principle 
charity,  is  universal  in  its  extension ;  yet,  like  charity, 
it  should  always  begin  at  home.  And  surely  for  us  at 
the  South,  in  these  days  of  intriguing  conventions,  and 
log-rolling  caucuses,  and  wire-pulling  politicians,  now 
and  here  is  the  time  for  its  commencement ;  and  there  is 
need  of  all  the  patriot's  vigilance  and  caution  now,  for 
of  a  truth  the  dark  days  are  upon  us.     There  is  a  per- 


232  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

lentous  cloud  which,  rising  first  as  little  as  a  human 
hand,  has  increased  till  its  gloom  overspreads  our 
whole  northern  horizon.  Insult  upon  insult  has  been 
heaped  upon  the  South.  One  right  after  another  has 
been  encroached  on.  One  safeguard  after  another  of 
the  liberties  which  the  Constitution  guaranteed  to  us 
has  been  torn  away,  until  Southern  Equality  and 
Southern  Rights  have  become  by-words,  and  things  for 
scoflFs  and  jeers.  The  signs  of  the  times  warn  us  that 
the  danger  is  imminent  that  this  Union,  founded  by  the 
wisdom  of  our  patriot  ancestors  on  a  soil  yet  wet  with 
the  blood  of  freedom's  martyrs,  will  not  much  longer 
exist ;  that  a  bright  constellation  is  about  to  be  swept 
from  the  political  heavens,  and  that  the  United  States 
of  North  America  must  go  take  their  place  among  the 
nations  of  history.  And  better  so  !  Better  far  that  this 
Union  be  dissolved  than  that  a  confederation  of  sover- 
eign States  without  equal  rights  to  all  its  members 
should  exist.  The  grand  experiment  has  failed,  and 
conservative  democracy  has  become  fanatical  moboc- 
racy.  The  feeling  of  hatred  to  the  South  now  existing 
at  the  North  has  not  been  the  mushroom  offspring  of 
an  hour,  but  has  been  the  strong  and  steady  growth  of 
years.  Eternal  liostility  to  the  South  and  to  her  most 
vital  and  cherished  institutions  has  been  taught  to  the 
children  in  Northern  schools  ;  has  been  thundered  forth 
on  the  Lord's-day  from  Northern  pulpits;  and  has 
been  sworn  on  Northern  altars  ;  and  John  Brown  was 
sent  to  write  the  oath  in  Southern  blood  on  Southern 
soil.  That  blood  cries  aloud  for  vengeance;  and  surely 
it  is  time  for  the  South  to   arise  in  her  might  and  hurl 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  23S 

back  the  declaration  of  an  irrepressible  conflict,  and 
**  take  up  arms  against  this  sea  of  troubles,  and  by  op- 
posing end  them."  Shall  we  wait  for  further  aggres- 
sions ?  Shall  we  wait  for  more  degrading  insults  ?  Even 
a  crawling  worm  will  turn  to  bite  the  heel  which 
treads  upon  it ;  and  shall  the  South,  the  land  of  chiv- 
alry, and  the  chosen  home  of  honor  and  valor,  tamely 
Bubmit  to  be  reduced  to  a  state  of  vassalage  ?  Forbid 
it  Heaven !  No !  animated  with  the  spirit  of  our  sires ; 
catching  inspiration  from  every  breeze  which  blows  over 
Cowpens,  King's  Mountain,  and  Eutaw,  and  armed 
with  the  justice  of  our  cause,  let  us  go  forth  trusting 
in  the  God  of  battles,  and  fight  bravely  in  defence  of 
Truth  and  the  Right.  True,  the  odds  against  us  are 
fearful  and  the  result  doubtful ;  but  death  is  preferable 
to  dishonor ;  and  let  us  strive  for  Southern  Indepen- 
dence even  at  the  risk  of  utter  destruction.  God 
grant  that  ere  death's  scythe  shall  cut  me  down,  this 
arm  may  strike  one  blow  for  Southern  Rights. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  LETTERS. 


I  THINK  if  a  man  dies  discharging  his  duty,  he  dies 
a  noble  death,  and  a  home  in  heaven  will  be  his  re- 
ward. -H-  *  ^t  But  I  would  like  extremely  to  come 
home.  I  try  to  enjoy  myself,  and  make  others  happy 
around  me;  but  every  pleasure,  every  happiness,  is 
alloyed  with  some  pain.  I  have  an  undefinable  yeam- 
8 


234  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

ing  after  home  and  its  pleasant,  quiet  enjoyments.  I 
am  surrounded  here  by  friends,  and  have  all  the  com- 
forts of  home ;  but  here  I  have  no  mother  to  watch 
over  me,  no  father  to  soothe  my  hours  of  sickness  or 
pain,  and  no  sisters  and  brother  to  be  my  companions 
and  kind  and  gentle  friends.  All  here  like  me,  but 
none  love  me.     [March,  1856.] 


You  speak  of  religion  to  me,  and  I  often  think  about 
it,  and  hope  the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  I  may  be 
among  the  children  of  God,  having  a  mansion  pre- 
pared for  me  in  heaven.     [1856.] 


But  there  are  "recollections  of  the  past,  pleasant 
yet  mournful  to  the  soul,"  on  such  a  day  as  this.  As 
I  sit  and  write,  there  comes  before  my  soul's  view  a 
sight  of  pleasing  nature.  I  see  a  happy  father  coming 
home,  and  laughing  children  run  to  meet  him;  and 
there  is  one  little  beauteous,  boyish  form,  clasped  first 
to  his  father's  breast.  The  children  precede  their  sire 
to  a  lovely  garden,  blooming  bright  with  spring's  first 
flowers,  and  there  the  mother  sits  among  the  flowers, 
and  bears  upon  her  bosom  as  fair  a  floweret  as  in  that 
garden  grows.  'Tis  the  babelet,  raised  among  the 
flowers  until  she  is  as  fair  as  they,  who  stretches  her 
tiny  arms  to  welcome  father  home.  And  now  the  scene 
changes.  There  is  the  mother  older,  but  not  less 
happy,  and  another  rosebud  rests  upon  her  bosom. 
There  are  the  two  sisters.     The  little  bud  has  opened 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  235 

and  become  a  pretty,  blushing,  half-blown  rose.     But 

is  not  there.    The  flowers  are  as  sweet  and  pretty 

as  before,  but  he  is  not  there  to  sport  among  them, 
and  gather  sweets  from  every  blossom.  No,  he  joins 
an  angel-band  in  the  gardens  of  the  Lord,  where  he 
chants  a  choral  song  of  praise.  Did  I  say  he  was  not 
with  the  rest  ?  0 !  he  is  with  them  all  now.  I  lift 
with  trembling  hand  the  misty  veil  which  hides  the 
known  from  the  unknown,  and  I  see  a  fairy  form  with 
wings  resplendent  with  a  thousand  rainbow  tints,  and 
in  his  hands  there  is  a  harp,  and  on  his  head  there  is 
a  crown  such  as  king  or  emperor  never  wore,  which 
hovers  over  that  happy  home-group.     [March  9,  1857.] 


There  is  such  a  holy  quietness  about  the  country, 
that  thoughts  of  purity,  and  love,  and  heaven  come  to 
me  as  soon  as  I  get  here.     [1859.] 


Hip!  hip!  hurrah!  for  the  pen  mightier  than  the 
sword — richer  than  a  gold  mine  !  Tell  mother  that  I, 
who  never  have  written  for  any  thing  but  fame,  am 
getting  arffeni  and  or  to  gild  my  laurel  leaves.  If  I 
only  get  a  dollar  for  my  pay,  I  will  prize  it  more  than 
all  the  rest  of  my  salary.  It  is  the  beginning  (small 
indeed,  but  it  is  the  beginning)  of  what  I  hope  will  be 
a  useful,  profitable,  and  honorable  course.  Writing 
has  always  been  that  in  which  I  most  wished  to  excel, 
and  my  only  and  greatest  ambition  has  been  to  be  fam- 
ous as  an  author.     I  would  rather  be  a  poet  than  a 


236  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

president,  or  any  thing  else  on  earth.  This  is  really 
and  truly  what  I  feel ;  and  I  think  when  a  man  has 
such  a  love  for  and  pride  in  the  object  of  his  desires, 
he  is  generally  sure  of  success.  I  can  overcome  my 
disinclination  to  labor,  and  work,  and  toil,  and  even 
read  dull  books,  if  by  these  means  I  can  help  myself 
on  in  my  pursuit.  But  I  do  not  have  to  labor  much 
for  my  poetry,  such  as  it  is :  I  only  have  to  feel  and 
then  write  down  exactly  what  I  feel  as  I  feel  it.  I 
know  that  very  often  my  after  conduct  and  previous 
behavior  are  very  much  at  variance  with  the  senti- 
ments I  express ;  but  I  thank  God  for  it,  that  while  I 
am  writing,  I  really  do  feel  what  I  say.  As  to  taking 
a  subject  and  thinking  about  it,  and  then  sitting  down 
and  turning  out  a  smooth  and  polished  poem,  I  cannot 
do  it.  I  couldn't  write  a  Fourth  of  July  ode,  or  a 
song  for  a  celebration,  or  any  thing  else  that  I  had  to 
prepare  myself  for,  and  was  tied  down  to  a  certain 
idea,  etc.  I  know  nothing  of  short  and  long  syllables, 
and  feet,  and  dactyls,  and  spondees,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing ;  but  I  sit  down  sometimes,  when  I  feel  that 
I  must  write  something,  and  can't  help  myself,  and 
then  I  write  something  about  whatever  comes  into  my 
head ;  and  I  very  often  succeed  in  producing  a  pretty 
little  musical  lyric.  And  however  much  you  may 
laugh  at  my  vanity,  I  think  that,  for  music  and  simple 
beauty,  not  many  of  our  present  young  poets  are  much 
my  superiors.  And  now  I  sincerely  beg  your  pardon 
for  troubling  you ;  but  I  got  started,  and  couldn't  help 
it.     [1859.] 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  237 

I  do  not  wish  to  keep  at  school-teaching  all  my  life, 
short  as  it  may  be.  I  want  to  go  out  and  mingle 
among  men.  But  I  really  do  believe  that,  considering 
my  excitable  temperament,  it  is  much  better  for  me 
that  I  should  be  able  to  keep  away  from  the  turmoil 
and  excitement  which  would  then  surround  me.  [Oc- 
tober, 1859.] 


I  enclose  you  some  things  which  I  have  cut  from  the 
newspapers.  Some  of  them  will  please  you;  some 
you  may  not  like,  on  account  of  your  aversion  to  love- 
lyrics.  But  the  poetry  is  good,  and  the  music  is  sweet, 
though  the  sentiment  may  not  please  you.  And  yet 
there  is  or  can  be  nothing  more  refining  or  elevating  to 
a  man's  nature  than  this  sort  of  sentiment.  Besides, 
these  little  songlets  give  a  man  a  place  to  express  a 
good  many  little  pretty  fancies  that  sometimes  hover 
in  his  imagination,  and  worry  and  tickle  the  brain  until 
they  find  modes  of  expression.     [February,  1859.] 


Have  you  ever  read  Alexander  Smith  ?  If  not,  you 
should  read  his  Poems.  I  read  them  the  other  day  for 
the  first  time.  There  is  something  about  them  of  such 
an  original  wildness,  such  deep  penetration  into  the 
remote  unknown,  as  you  find  in  no  other.  He  is 
cramped,  it  seems  to  me,  in  his  poetry.  He  is  often 
faulty  in  expression;  but  this  results,  I  think,  from 
the  wild  poetic  spirit  within  which  longs  to  escape  the 
tenement  of  clay  where  now  it  dwells,  to  throw  off  all 


238  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

mortality  and  earthly  taint,  and  fly  away,  singing  and 
rejoicing  in  its  freedom,  through  the  wide  regions  of 
the  immaterial.     [1859.] 


All  the  praise  which  comes  from  any  thing  I  do,  or 
write,  or  say,  I  rejoice  at,  because  it  will  please  father 
and  mother.  I  am  now,  as  ever,  unambitious.  I  will 
be  glad  of  fame,  if  it  come  without  labor.  About  the 
world's  opinion  I  do  not  care  a  straw.  So  whenever  I 
do  any  thing,  it  is  for  that  small,  sweet  world,  my  fa- 
mily, whom  I  love  more  than  I  show,  and  more  than 
they  know.     [1859.] 


I  would  have  written  to  you  when  I  heard  of  A 's 

death,  but  I  could  not.     And  I  have  not  been  able  to 

trust  myself  to  write  to .     If  constant  recurrence 

can  familiarize  one  with  death,  I  ought  to  be,  and  am 
getting  to  be,  accustomed  to  the  feeling  which  comes 
when  we  hear  of  the  death  of  a  friend.  One  after  one 
they  have  gone,  and  are  going.  My  turn  will  come 
after  a  while.  When  it  comes,  I  think  I  will  be  ready, 
[1859.] 


I  am  very  sorry  that  has  returned  in  such  a 

poor  state  of  health.  It  is  very  mournful  to  see  a 
young  man,  just  starting  upon  life,  with  every  nervo 
sprung  for  the  combat,  and  his  heart  beating  high  with 
the  elation  of  hope,  suddenly  stopped  just  at  the 
threshold,  and  his  face  turned  from  the  beautiful  pros- 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  239 

pect,  to  look  upon  another  picture  of  a  short  life,  ren- 
dered painful  and  weary  by  disease,  and  darkened  by 
the  presaging  shadow  of  swift  and  certain  death.  It 
is  sad  to  see  the  pillars  of  the  temple,  one  by  one,  giv- 
ing way,  and  the  whole  grand,  God-made  structure  be- 
ginning to  crumble  and  dissolve.     [1859.] 


We  had  a  Burns  Festival  in  Camden  last  night,  and 
an  address  was  delivered  by  Mr.  Wm.  M.  Martin,  in 
the  presence  of  a  large  and  fashionable  audience,  who 
seemed  to  be  very  well  pleased.  As  I  had  only  nine 
days'  notice,  of  course  it  was  gotten  up  very  hurriedly, 
and  occupied  all  my  leisure  hours  during  those  days. 
It  is  not  as  fine  a  production  as  I  would  wish,  but  it  is 
very  creditable.  It  sounds  much  better  than  it  reads. 
I  was  invited  by  the  Committee  of  Arrangements,  con- 
sisting of  Messrs.  ,  ,  ,  , •     On 

Tuesday  afternoon,  then,  behold  me  in  gorgeous  array, 
just  as  fine  as  two  or  three  fiddles,  large  fiddles,  bass 
viols,  riding  up  in  my  carriage  (I  had  one  all  to  my- 
self) to  Col.  K 's,  where  I  took  tea  and  completed 

my  toilet.  I  then  went  to  the  hall,  and,  escorted  by 
the  committee,  ascended  the  platform,  and  was  intro- 
duced in  a  very  pretty  speech  to  the  audience  by  Col. 
K .  I  spoke  about  half  an  hour.  After  the  ora- 
tion, we  proceeded  to  supper  at  the  hotel.  I  was  led 
to  the  head  of  the  table,  and  occupied  the  seat  of  honor 
on  the  right  hand  of  the  president.  After  supper,  the 
first  regular  toast— ''To  the  memory  of  Robert  Burns" 
—was  read.    To  this  Col.  K responded,  and  con- 


240  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

eluded  by  offering,  on  the  part  of  the  committee,  the 
following  toast:  "The  youthful  orator,  Mr.  Wm.  M. 
Martin,  who  has  distinguished  himself  by  his  able  and 
eloquent  effort  to-night :  may  the  end  of  his  career  be 
as  happy  as  its  beginning  has  been  honorable."  They 
called  on  me,  and  I  arose  and  said:  "Mr.  President 
and  Gentlemen : — After  the  elegant  and  sumptuous  re- 
past of  which  I  have  just  partaken,  and  to  which  I  did 
ample  justice — more,  I  fear,  than  I  did  to  the  character 
of  Burns — I  can  almost  say  that  I  am  too  full  for  utter- 
ance. For  the  kind  manner  in  which  you  have  been 
pleased  to  notice  my  humble  efforts  for  your  entertain- 
ment this  evening,  allow  me  to  tender  my  heartfelt 
acknowledgments.  Conscious  that  the  great  theme  of 
the  Life  and  Character  of  Robert  Burns  was  too  much 
for  my  abilities,  I  would  have  declined  the  invitation 
from  the  committee  to  address  you,  but  I  felt  that  all 
the  Scotch  blood  in  my  veins  would  rush  to  my  face  in 
a  blush  of  shame  if  I  refused  to  do  all  that  lay  in 
my  power  to  give  honor  to  the  memory  of  Robert 
Burns.  I  say  that  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness ; 
but  kindness,  coming  from  the  citizens  of  Camden,  is 
not  unexpected  or  unaccustomed  to  me.  With  you 
were  spent  some  of  the  brightest  days  of  my  boyhood, 
and  to  them  will  memory  often  revert  as  bright  oases 
in  life's  pilgrimage ;  and  now  in  manhood's  earliest 
days,  when  a  kind  fortune  has  again  cast  my  lot  among 
you,  I  come  not  as  a  stranger,  but  as  a  traveler  return- 
ing home  to  be  greeted  by  warm  hearts  and  smiling 
faces.  In  conclusion,  permit  me  to  offer  you  the  fol- 
lowing sentiment :  I  give  you,  <  The  memory  of  Keith 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  241 

S.  Moffat,  a  true  Scotchman,  a  brave  soldier,  a  good 
Christian,  and  an  honest  man:  we  hope  that  ere  long 
a  monumental  pile  will  mark  the  spot  where  now  he 
sleeps,  his  warfare  done.'  "  The  last  regular  toast  that 
was  read  was  Woman.  Here  again  I  was  called  out, 
and  responded  in  a  few  words.  I  told  them  that  when 
persons  were  toasted,  it  was  customary  for  them  or 
some  of  their  friends  to  respond.  I  was  sorry  there 
were  no  ladies  there  to  answer  for  themselves.  I  was 
not  a  woman.  I  wished  I  was  half  as  good  as  one. 
But  I  was  a  great  friend  of  woman.  I  had  a  great 
partiality  for  them.  My  mother  was  a  woman,  and  I 
thought  women  generally  a  great  institution.  What 
could  we  do  without  them,  to  add  brightness  to  our 
joys,  and  to  share  and  soothe  our  sorrows  ?  Why,  law- 
yers even  liked  women. 

«  Fee  simple,  and  simple  fee, 
And  all  the  fees  in  tail, 
Are  nothing  when  compared  with  thee, 
Thou  best  of  fees,  fe-male." 

«Auld  nature  swears  the  lovely  dears,"  etc. 
I  told  them  that  when  I  got  to  talking  about  women,  I 
must  quit  dull  prose,  and  let  my  fancy  roam  in  verse, 
and  then  repeated  those  verses  of  mine,  *' What  is  wo- 
man," etc.     [1859.] 


How  sad  a  thing,  to  speak  conventionally,  is  Miss 

'8  death !     And  yet  who  knows  but  that  it  is  a 

most  blessed  and  gracious  dispensation  ?    If  we  believe 
in  an  overruling  Providence,  we  must  believe  that  it 


242  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

was  for  some  good  purpose.  She  was  called  away  be- 
fore she  knew  much  of  sorrow  or  any  thing  of  care, 
and  has  been  spared  all  the  troubles  and  griefs  which 
must  surely  come  to  us  who  must,  in  obedience  to  the 
requirements  of  Providence,  remain  here  longer  and 
enjoy  (?)  a  long  life.  Sometimes  I  think  that  I  would  be 
glad  to  exchange  situations  with  an  etherealized  spirit, 
and  leave  this  world  ;  but  then  I  think  that  I  may  have 
something  allotted  to  me  to  perform  in  the  future,  and 
I  quietly  bide  my  time.  But  it  is  truly  a  sorrowful 
thing  for  one  who  enjoys  life  as  she  did,  and  who  has 
every  element  of  happiness  around  her,  and  the 
brightest  vista  wherein  to  look  down  the  future  and  see 
nothing  but  real  pleasure  and  unalloyed  joy,  to  have 
to  resign  all  her  friends,  and  all  her  joys,  and  all  her 
hopes,  save  one,  and  change  bright  hopes  and  loving 
smiles  for  the  cold,  dark  grave,  and  the  battening 
worms.  There  is  one  hope  left  to  some :  you  say  it 
was  to  her.  Let  us  who  were  her  friends,  and  who 
love,  and  revere,  and  sympathize  with  her  parents, 
thank  God  for  that,  and  pray  that  when  all  earthly 
scenes  are  fading,  and  the  rippling  of  the  river  be- 
comes more  and  more  distinct,  that  one  hope,  better 
than  all  oihers,  may  be  a  beacon-light  to  guide  us 
safely  through  the  gloom  of  the  valley  and  across  the 
dark  waters.     [1859.] 


Tell those  violets  were  very,  very  sweet.     I  have 

a  heart  somewhere,  and  it  is  sometimes  reached. 
Those  sweet  flowers  thrilled  it  with  such  memories  of 
home,  and  love,  and  youth,  and  innocence !     [I860.] 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  243 

Most  of  the  sufferers  in  that  tragedy  in  Camden  are 
poor  people.  God  pity  them !  In  such  times  as  this, 
it  does  make  us  sympathize  as  though  we  were  related. 
The  great  human  bond  of  brotherhood  comes  into  play, 
and  makes  us  mourn  with  those  who  mourn.  I  have 
Been  that  self-same  flat  crowded  with  a  number  of 
bright  and  happy  ones,  and  they  were  spared.  These 
others  were  taken.     Rest  their  souls !     [I860.] 


I  have  read  fifty-nine  Psalms  and  one  of  the  chap- 
ters in  Jay's  Exercises  every  night  since  I  have  been 
here.  I  believe  that  my  health  will  stand  me  well,  but 
these  people  seem  to  look  upon  fever  as  the  rule  and 
health  the  exception.  I  do  not  believe,  though,  that  I 
am  going  to  die  yet.  I  hope  and  I  think  that  there  is 
something  for  me  to  do  yet ;  and  I  believe  that  God 
will  spare  me  until  it,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  accom- 
plished. I  cannot  believe  that  Providence  would  have 
interfered  so  often  and  so  signally  in  my  affairs,  and 
in  my  behalf,  but  for  some  good  purpose.  I  do  assure 
you  truthfully  that  I  pray  every  day  for  God  to  change 
my  heart.  I  hope  that  I  am  better  than  I  was,  but  I 
fear  greatly.     [I860.] 


I  never  lie  down  without  opening  my  window  and 
looking  up  at  the  bright  stars,  and  thanking  God  for 
his  mercies  and  his  beauties.     [I860.] 


244  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

But  the  mountains,  grand  as  they  are,  cannot  com- 
pare with  the  sea.  I  cannot  describe  the  emotions 
with  which  I  first  gazed  upon  its  broad  expanse.  You 
may  think  me  foolish  and  romantic,  but  it  excited  me 
beyond  measure.  And  I  went  away  off  on  the  island 
by  myself,  at  night,  and  drank  in  its  deep  beauty ;  and 
I  prayed  to  God,  feeling  nearer  to  him  than  I  had  ever 
felt  before.  I  was  very  much  excited.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  would  very  gladly  have  let  it  seize  me  in  its 
embraces  and  carry  me  away,  away,  into  that  dim  un- 
known, that  mist-covered  afar-off,  whence  with  the 
rising  tide  it  came,  and  whither  it  hastened  to  return. 
[I860.] 


Mine  host,  besides  being  very  dull  company,  is  very 
conceited,  and  thinks  he  knows  as  much  as  I  do.  Only 
think  of  his  reading  a  piece  of  my  poetry,  and  then 
saying,  with  a  conscious,  self-depreciating  air,  "Well, 
that's  one  thing  I  never  could  do  ;"  as  if  any  one  in  the 
wildest  ravings  of  insanity  would  ever  imagine  that  he 
could!     [I860.] 


That  was  a  beautiful  little  piece  of  Mrs.  Stratton's. 
She  ought  to  write  more,  if  she  could.  I  think  her 
one  of  the  best  of  all  our  Southern  poets,  or  Northern 
either.  She  ought  to  be  encouraged.  What  a  pity 
that  there  is  no  Maecenas  now-a-days  who  would  sup- 
port us  poor,  starveling  poet-rascals,  requiring  only  a 
little  flattery  in  return !  I  have  so  much  to  do — so 
many  things  to  write,  if  I  only  had  time,  during  this 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  245 

very  delicious  weather.  In  the  summer  I  can  do  no- 
thing in  that  way  at  all.  I  hate  to  put  pen  to  paper. 
That  story  of  Mrs.  E 's,  in  the  Enquirer,  was  un- 
commonly well  done.     Some  of  its  descriptions  were 

immensely  fine.     And  don't  D write  piquant  con- 

tributorials  ?     [I860.] 


What  a  curious  and  strange  experience  mine  has 
been  of  life !  I  have  lived  a  novel — one  of  Reynolds's 
or  Sue's,  may  be— yet  it  is  a  novel.  And  I  believe 
that  the  diflFerent  scenes  and  actions  I  have  passed 
through,  will  yet  work  out  good.  I  have  seen  an  over- 
ruling Providence,  a  special  Providence  almost,  in 
every  action  of  my  life.  If  not  a  special  Providence 
who  sees  and  foreordains  every  thing,  it  must  be  the 
strangest  Chance.  I  know,  if  I  know  any  thing,  that 
it  is  not  Chance.     [I860.] 


He  was  as  much  sinned  against  as  sinning.  He  was 
despised  as  weak  and  variable,  because  he  yielded  to 
the  strong  influences  by  which  he  was  surrounded. 
How  many  of  us  are  there  who  would  resist  success- 
fully ?  Think  of  his  trials,  think  of  his  nature,  and 
think  of  his  kind  and  loving  heart,  and  judge  him 
Hghtly.  He  has  gone,  with  all  his  faults  and  imper- 
fections, to  the  presence  of  his  Maker,  who  said  that 
we  should  forgive  an  erring  brother  seventy  times 
seven,  and  whose  dearest  attribute  is  mercy.     [I860.] 


246  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

However,  be  this  as  it  may,  I  hope  yet  to  be  an 
humble,  meek,  and  faithful  follower  of  the  lowly  Jesus. 
My  manners  may  appear  light  and  trifling,  and  I  may 
be  light  and  foolish  myself;  but  I  know  that  I  have  at 
the  bottom  a  good,  warm,  true,  and  loving  heart. 
[I860.] 


I  have  finished  all  the  law  I  have,  and  am  reviewing 
it.  But  it  is  with  an  unwilling  mind  that  I  throw  aside 
my  pen,  and  banish  my  beautiful  fancies,  to  take  up  a 
dry  law-book,  or  throw  down  Shakspeare  and  take  up 
Chitty  on  Bills,  I  should  like  to  meet  Timrod.  He  is 
a  better  poet,  I  think,  than  any  other  in  South  Caro- 
lina, except,  perhaps,  Hayne.     D had  a  beautiful 

poem  in  the  last  Enquirer,  entitled,  *'To  Thee."  You 
ought  to  know  him,  though  it  would  take  you  a  long 
time  to  do  so.     He  is  a  noble  man.     Wasn't  it  kind  in 

M to  send  me  that  beautiful  book  ?     I  had  seen  it, 

and  admired,  and  coveted  it  often.     [I860.] 


The  wedding  last  week,  of  which  I  spoke,  was  so 
slow  an  affair,  that  it  has  left  no  noticeable  points 

upon  my  memory  worth  recording.     I  and  Dr. , 

and  two  aged  females,  indulged  in  a  game  of  club-fist, 

much  to  the  delight  of  old and  his  son,  the 

preacher,  who  has  any  quantity  of  initials  to  his  name, 
a  few  among  which  are — of  course.  This  game  af- 
forded me  much  internal  satisfaction,  thinking  how 
some  of  my  fashionable  friends  would  rejoice  at  the 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  247 

spectacle.     Then  we  had  a  game  of  "  Solomon  says  so 
and  so,"  like  unto  ''Simon  says  wig-wag,"  of  precious 
memory.     This  was  a  game  of  pawns ;  but  one  very 
ancient,  toothless  female,  protested  that  there  should 
be  no  kissing,  because  "  sich  carrying  ons  is  rediclus" : 
BO  we  had  a  slow  time  at  this.     Then  we  played  ♦*  Ton 
honor,"  where  hand  was  placed  on  hand,  and  then 
drawn  and  withdrawn,  until   a  certain  number  had 
been  counted.     The  unhappy  person  upon  whom  the 
lot  fell  was  then  asked  divers  questions,  which  had  to 
be   answered    *"pon    honor":— such   questions    as, 
«» Who's  you  in  love  with  ?"     "  When's  you  goin'  to  git 
married?"  etc.     I  put  on  my  gloves  and  went  at  it, 
causing  much  mirth  by  my  answers,  and  making  quite 
a  divertisement  by  inquiring  of  the  female  on  my  left, 
with  the  six-inch  high  coronet,  "How  old  are  you?" 
The  supper  was  eaten  at  a  long  table  in  the  yard,  and 
the  scene  was  really  very  picturesque.     The  females 
and  men  were  got  up  quite  gaudily,  with  any  quan- 
tity of  beads  and  breastpins ;  and  these  reflected  the 
light  from  the  fire-stands,  which  were  blazing  in  the 
yard  all  about.     One  old  gentleman  asked  me  if  I  had 
ever  heard  of  Lorenzo  Dow,  and,  upon  my  answering 
affirmatively,  proceeded  to  tell  me  a  great  many  anec- 
dotes of  him,  all  of  which  I  had  heard  before,  and  of 
all  of  which  he  forgot  the  point,  but  made  up  for  it  by 
laughing  most  heartily  and  contagiously.     [I860.] 

do  not  understand  why  good  Christian 


should  be  "quite  broken  up,"  unless  by  sympathetic 
excitement.    What  has  she  ever  done  to  be  "broken 


248  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

up"  about?  She  has  no  sins  to  be  sorry  for.  Come 
to  the  rationale  of  it :  she  is  born  in  sin,  and  must 
seek  for  a  new  heart;  but  why  should  she  be  so 
grieved,  so  sorrowful  for  sin  ?  How  can  she  repent  in 
tears  for  sins  she  has  never  committed  ?  Now,  there 
would  be  some  reason  in  such  a  wicked  sinner  as  I 
have  been  being  "  broken  up"  and  grievously  afflicted 
at  the  remembrance  of  guilt  and  sin,  and  become  af- 
fected to  tears  and  groans  in  seeking  pardon ;  but  for 

one  who  has  lived  so  very  blamelessly  as ,  I  do 

not  see  why  it  should  be,  unless  from  sympathy  and 
excitement.  Don't  misunderstand  me.  It  may  be  all 
right,  but  I  don't  understand  it.  There  are  many 
things,  very  many  things,  about  heaven  and  God,  and 
the  system  of  Christianity,  which  I  don't  and  can't  un- 
derstand, and,  thank  God,  I  have  quit  trying  to  ;  and 
now  I  do  believe  I  have  faith  in  Him  who  died  to  save. 
I  am  not  a  Christian,  nor  am  I  under  conviction,  as  I 
know  of;  but  I  am  much  nearer  the  light  than  I  was 
six  months  ago.     I  am  no  unbeliever  now.     [I860.] 


I  write  to-day  to  let  you  know  that  I  am  thinking  of 
you  now ;  indeed,  I  always  think  of  you,  but  more  es- 
pecially to-day,  your  birthday.  It  may  be  that  my  ac- 
tions have  shortened  the  number  of  the  returns  of  this 
day  to  you ;  but  0 !  forgive  me  and  pity  me.  I  do  not 
think  that  I  will  grieve  you  again  as  I  have  done :  I 
pray  not,  and  hope  not.  I  do  not  feel  any  change  of 
heart  yet,  but  I  do  feel  more  strongly  determined  than 
I  ever  did  to  try  and  act  well  in  future.     I  read  my 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  249 

Bible  daily,  and  pray  every  day,  thus  acknowledging 
my  dependence  on  God  at  least,  if  nothing  more.     I 
know  that  any  service  of  mine  can  but  be  very  imper- 
fect, for  I  have  wandered  far  away  from  the  right  path ; 
but  I  do  try  to  render  some,  as  little  as  it  may  be.     I 
have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  lately,  trying  to  school 
myself  to  be  willing  to  put  away  a  great  many  things 
which  may  hinder  me  and  prevent  me  from  being  an 
upright  man.     I  feel  that  I  am  weak,  and  I  need  the 
strength  of  One  that  is  higher  than  I.     I  know  that 
you  pray  for  me,  and  I  have  hope  from  that :  without 
it,  it  seems  very  dark.     I  suppose  I  can  hardly  expect 
to  be  a  rejoicing  Christian,  favored  with  great  mani- 
festations of  God's  love;  but  I  do  wish  to  be  a  good 
man,  if  I  can.      [I860.] 

This  is  Friday  night,  and  I  always  feel  as  if  it  were 
almost  sacrilegious  to  employ  it  for  any  other  purpose 
than  amusement  or  social  enjoyment;  and  in  compli- 
ance with  my  views,  I  sit  down  now  for  a  little  talk 
with  one  whom  I  am  proud  to  number  among  '«the 
many  that  I  love,"  and  who  is,  I  hope,  one  of  "the 
few  who  love  me."  A  letter  is  a  perfect  godsend  to  me 
in  my  forlorn  and  desolate  condition.  Even  a  dun 
loses  somewhat  of  its  sombre  hue;  and  when  one  comes 
kindly  and  genially,  like  yours,  it  is  like  a  vision  of  an 
angel  in  the  night-time.     [February,  I860.] 


By-the-bye,  I  received  an  epistle  from  my  sister  this 
morning;  and  she  writes  of  a  very  delightful  visit  to 


250  LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES. 

my  favorite  of  all  places,  except  the  sea-shore  — 
Csesar's  Head.  And  she  says  that,  by  your  kindness 
and  politeness,  the  visit  was  rendered  the  more  plea- 
sant. I  wish  I  could  have  been  with  you.  Nothing 
elevates  or  exhilarates  me  more,  mentally,  or  physi- 
cally, or  spiritually,  than  to  stand  on  Caesar's  Head 
and  look  out  upon  the  great,  beautiful  world.  It,  next 
to  the  ocean,  realizes  more  completely  than  any  thing 
else  my  ideas,  or  rather  my  dreamings,  of  eternity  and 
infinity.  ^  *  *  -^  There  is  one  thing  in  your  letter 
about  "the  power  of  some  lifeless  things  that  moves 
one  like  a  living  soul."  To  my  mind,  it  is  a  living  soul^ 
the  great  soul  or  sympathy  of  nature,  the  Alma  Natures,; 
and  I  wish  to  talk  with  you  more  concerning  this  same 
subject.     At  present,  adieu.     [August,  I860.] 


I  write  now,  having  just  been  relieved  from  guard- 
duty  of  twenty-four  hours  ;  and  hard  duty  it  was ;  and 
consequently  I  am  very  much  exhausted.  We  have 
had  one  small  engagement,  of  which  I  suppose  you 
know  the  particulars  from  the  papers.  We  expected 
an  attack  momentarily  from  Fort  Sumter,  in  which  we 
were  agreeably  disappointed.  I  was  not  near  as  much 
excited  as  I  thought  I  would  be ;  and  I  was  not  at  all 
frightened,  but  stood  at  my  gun  with  my  finger  on  the 
vent,  giving  my  orders  as  coolly  as  if  in  a  common 
drill.  We  look  for  a  fight  every  hour,  and  I  believe 
we  are  ready.  I  try  to  do  my  duty  towards  God  and 
man  as  well  as  I  can.    We  expect  the  Brooklyn  in  with 


LYRICS    AND    SKETCHES.  251 

troops;  but  there  are  preparations  made  to  prevent 
her  entrance.  If  she  comes,  we  will  fire  into  her,  and 
Anderson  will  pitch  into  us.     [1861.] 


We  wiU  have  a  fight  before  the  week  is  out,  I  expect. 
Some  of  us  will  fall :  perhaps  I  may.     If  I  do,  I  want 
you  to  know  that  I  have  tried  to  do  my  duty  faithfully 
and  manfully.     I  have  been  a  wilful,  disobedient  son ; 
but  I  have  always  dearly  loved  the  dear  folks  at  home. 
I  hope  that  God  in  his  great  mercy  will  pardon  my 
sins  for  Christ's  sake.     I  write  this  lying  on  my  bed, 
every  moment  expecting  to  be  called  up  to  my  post.    I 
have  kept  my  bed  part  of  yesterday  and  to-day,  on 
account  of  illness.     We  were  called  to  our  guns  night 
before  last,  and  spent  the  night  until  5  o'clock,  A.  M., 
standing  at  our  posts.     Two  suspicious  boats  were  re- 
ported in  the  offing,  and,  as  they  came  nearer,  we  fired 
into  them.     One  of  the  shot  just  grazed  them.     They 
stood  out  to  sea  until  daylight,  and  then  came  in,  and 
proved  to  be  two  Pee  Dee  boats  laden  with  supplies  for 
us.     The  blame  rests  entirely  upon  the  boats,  for  they 
did  not  display  the  right  signals.     The  night  was  in- 
tensely cold,  and  I  contracted  a  cold,  with  some  fever. 
This  has  put  me  a  little  under  the  weather,  but  I  am 
much  better  now.     Everybody  has  been  very  kind  to 
me.     [January  31,  1861.] 


THE    END. 


Date  Due 

JUN  P      ^ 

Library  Bureau 

Cat.  no.  1137 

810. 8     V383L     315131 


^ 


S^^^ics__and_Sketc  he  8 


310.8     Mob3L        S151ol 


